20 One Shots
by Bekkoni
Summary: 20 drabbles/one-shots based on 20 one-word prompts. Prompt 20: Future. Mostly Founding Member-based, with lots of Trinity and Batman-centric stories. These can be read in any order. Occasional fluff warning, plus rare swearing.
1. Tired

**A/N: It says 40 prompts in the summary, but so far I only have 30. If anyone has another one (or five), please tell me and I'll definitely use it!**

********************

~Tired~

It was a seven hour flight back from Reos, where the three of them had been negotiating a treaty between two warring races for the past two days. Bruce really didn't know why he had been included on this mission. Apparently he was supposed to just look imposing and discourage any would-be rebels from interfering in the peace talks.

"ETA six hours forty-four minutes," He said, hands on the controls. The Javelin was perfectly capable of flying them home on auto-pilot, but he trusted himself more. Especially since it was a smaller version, only three seats. More vulnerable.

"It's a long flight," Diana said. She was seated next to him, with Clark on the other side. "Close your eyes."

"I'm fine."

"You are not," Clark said. He was reading some cheap paperback thriller.

"Stay out of it, Kent. Neither of you are sleeping."

"Uh, oh," Diana and Clark exchanged a look over his head. "He called you Kent. Better not push your luck or it'll be Superman next."

"He has a point, though. I'm exhausted." Clark dog-eared the page he was on and set the book on the dashboard. He closed his eyes and put his head against the window. He was promptly asleep.

Diana reached over and hit the switch that dimmed the lights.

"I can't fly if I can't see," It wasn't really true—his cowl had perfectly capable night vision.

"Then don't fly," Diana sighed, stretched out, and put her head on his shoulder. Bruce reached over to accelerate. She pulled his hand back.

"Sleep."

"No."

Diana hit another switch, and the cabin was completely dark. He relaxed, pretending to give in, and she snuggled up.

Bruce waited until her breathing had slowed. Then he shifted her back to her own seat, found a blanket in the compartment under the dashboard, and threw it over her.

He took a sip of coffee and reengaged manual controls.


	2. Dress

**A/N --I still need 9 more prompts. Anybody got any ideas?**

~Dress~

Alfred looked, displeased, at the mess before him. "You certainly cannot wear _that_ to the charity evening," he said.

Diana glanced down at her dress. It had been pink and floor-length, before the two bank robberies, attempted assassination, and kidnapping plot she had foiled. Now it was more of a brown-green color and hardly covered more than her usual outfit did.

She blushed.

Alfred brought a robe from somewhere (where, Diana didn't see. She suspected Bruce had learned quite a lot from his surrogate father), and disappeared to another room while she removed the rags.

"Quite finished, Miss Diana?" he returned a few seconds after she had tied the robe.

"I guess I should go home," she said.

"And why is that, Miss?"

"Because I'm in a robe, Alfred," Diana said. "And what I have on underneath is not exactly acceptable for the Gotham Charity Dance."

"I believe I can remedy the situation," Alfred proffered a black garment bag in his left hand, unzipping it with a flourish of his right.

Inside was a gorgeous crimson dress, backless and complete with a pair of red heels.

Diana slipped it on. It fit her well. She spun and the layers of the dress twirled with her.

"Where did you find this?" she asked. "It's beauti—It's one of Bruce's girlfriend's, isn't it?"

"Actually, it was the Missus," Alfred folded up the garment bag and smiled wanly. "and if I do say so myself, you rival Mrs. Wayne."

"Oh, Alfred, what will Bruce say?"

"Quite frankly I doubt if he remembers any of the dresses," Alfred brought her to the stairs that led out of the cave. "Now go join the party."

Diana smiled and rushed up the steps. Bruce was waiting at the top.

"You look lovely," he said, then frowned. "It could be the champagne, but have I seen that before?"

"My dress got wrecked," she admitted. "Alfred found this one—it was your mom's."

"I'm glad it's going to good use," he said, and kissed her lightly. "You do look gorgeous." And they stepped from the darkened corridor into the dance hall.


	3. Psych

**A/N: Thanks to Batmanluvr and Karysa Mercury for prompts. I'm now up to 36. **

~Psych~

Superman and Wonder Woman ran down the Watchtower corridors, hunting the escapee. Superman tracked the fading heat signature left on the carpet, until it abruptly stopped.

"He has countermeasures," Clark said, resisting the urge to say something Ma would _not_ have approved of.

Diana stopped at the place where the hallway split into three paths and sniffed the air delicately, running her hand along the wall. "This way," she said, darting down the left corridor.

The hall ended at the laboratory. They burst in, Clark accidentally knocking over a prototype lying on a table. The room was empty.

"This way," he said, inching towards the controlled-environment chamber at the back of the room. It was the perfect place to hide—completely sealed, temperature controlled, and complete with a programming station on the inside.

Diana put her hands on the door. "Come out."

"No." the voice crackled over the intercom.

"Bruce."

"I can stay in here for a long time. How much time are you willing to spend trying to cajole me into coming out?"

Clark poised his hand over the emergency-open button. "Then I guess we'll have to makeyou." He pressed the button.

As soon as his fingertips made contact, green electricity shot from the panel and arched around his body. Clark fell.

"De-constructed kryptonite. Non-lethal, but deterring," Bruce sounded almost smug. "It is _my _lab."

Diana banged on the door. "Great Hera, you are making too big a deal out of this. Clark and I already did it, and the earth didn't shatter."

Silence.

Clark got to his feet. "We have to do this to keep the government funding."

"I wish you would just let me pay for it."

"And it explain it to Waynetech stockholders how?" Diana asked. "Come on, it will only take a few minutes."

"I am not letting some wack-job poke around in my head!" Bruce said. The intercom crackled with the rise in volume. "Bad enough that _J'onn_ does."

"A psychiatrist is not a wack-job. And you'll be sitting behind a screen, referred to only as subject #197. There's no chance your identity will be compromised," Diana put her hands on the door, preparing to rip it off the hinges.

"No," was the only response. Diana gripped the sides of the door and pulled.

Sparks shot through her veins—or at least that's what it felt like. She had no choice but to release the door.

Diana could almost _feel_ Bruce smirking.

Clark stepped up to the door. "You have until the count of ten."

"Or, what? You'll make me stand in the corner?"

"No," Clark said, exacting his worst threat and on he was sure Bruce wouldn't forgive him for anytime soon. "I'll call Alfred."

There was dead silence for almost twenty seconds. Then: "You wouldn't."

Clark smiled. "One…two…three…"

No answer.

"Six…seven…eight…nine…"

Brice still didn't respond. Clark took out his cell phone and started dialing. Alfred picked up within one ring.

"Hi, Alfred," Clark said, amicably, "could you please get Bruce to-"

The door swung open. "Okay!" Bruce said, grabbing the phone from Clark and hanging up. "God."

Diana and Clark each grabbed one of his arms. Bruce tried to break free, but it was no use against two people with enhanced strength. He kicked at Clark twice, but then gave up.

"_Please_ don't make me do this."

"I don't know what you're so scared of," Diana said. "It was quite painless."

"I spent four years in child-psychologists' offices," Bruce said. "I used up my lifetime tolerance of quacks."

"You'll live," Clark said. "I doubt that they'll be able to figure much out about you in forty-five minutes anyway."

"That reminds me!" Diana said. "Clark, we forgot."

"Forgot what?" Then Clark smiled. "Oh…right."

"What?" Bruce looked back and forth between the two of them. Then Diana slipped her Lasso of Truth from the knot by her side. "Oh, no. You are not putting that on me. Diana, I'm warning you—hey, STOP!"

It took them another fifteen minutes to tie his hands behind his back with the lasso. Then they dragged him back to the gymnasium, where the psychologists were set up behind screens, and tied him there, too.

********************

_Number?_

He was tempted to lie, but couldn't. "197," came out through grit teeth.

They gave him an IQ test next, and then a basic emotional assessment. He was pretty sure he aced the first one.

_For this next exercise I'll say a word and you say what word you associate with it._

"Fine."

_Start_

"Go."

_Go._

"Away."

_Away._

"Gone."

_Gone._

"Death," He never knew that the lasso hurt when it made you tell the truth.

_Death._

"Gun."

_Gun._

"Dad."

_Dad._

"Blood."

_Blood._

"Hurt."

_Hurt._

"Stop," he said. The golden thread was digging into his wrist.

_Stop._

"No, stop. Stop."

More questions. Nothing that would give away his identity; Clark had been telling the truth about that. It didn't mean he liked them.

_How often do you succeed?_

"You can't succeed at an impossible mission."

_Do you trust people in general?_

"No."

_How many specific people do you trust one-hundred percent?_

"None."

_If you were able to choose one thing, what would it be?_

He fought the lasso for a full minute before being forced to answer. "A do-over."

_At what?_

"Life." He could hear a pencil furiously scratching against paper.

_Would you rate yourself as A)Perfect, B)Fine, C) Mediocre, or D) Lacking?_

"D."

Finally, after two hours (that's what it seemed like—when he looked at the clock he found they had actually let him off early), Clark untied him.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" Diana asked, and gave him a smile.

Bruce glared at her. He honestly did not trust himself to open his mouth—he didn't need a lasso to tell him that.

"Bruce…?" Clark said.

Bruce turned and stalked off.

**********************************

Four hours later, the results of all the tests were in. Bruce was called down to the Founder's conference room. He ignored the summons, and instead got out his secret weapon, placing it in his utility belt.

Superman arrived half an hour later, knocked twice, and let himself in before Bruce could answer. He was holding a sheaf of papers.

"I…" he began, and held out the papers. "Here's your assessment."

Bruce snatched up the sheets and looked at the notes. Apparently he had a 151 IQ (already knew that). He flipped over the sheet. There was a chart on the other side, going from blue to red, with purple being zero. He was towards the far end of the blue side. The title of the chart was "Self Esteem/Probability of Depression."

He only glanced at the notes on the other side.

_No apparent mental illness but higher probability of developing one. Unlikely to seek out/accept help even if it is needed. Feels it necessary to prove self-worth to those around him._

Bruce dropped it in the wastebasket.

Clark shifted from foot to foot. "Look, if you ever, um…"

Bruce took out the weapon. Clark fell with the sudden impact of his own weight. Yellow kryptonite—it stripped Clark of his powers for just long enough. Bruce dragged a startled Superman to his feet and swung his fist into Clark's face, feeling cartilage snap.

Clark yelped and put his hand to his nose, but it didn't stop the blood. Bruce hit him again, in the chest, a blow designed to rob its victim of his breath. Clark fell once more, and Bruce held him down.

"Don't you ever, _ever _do that to me again," he yelled. Clark nodded. Bruce hit him once more, making sure to only break one rib. "Ever, dammit!" He stopped. The Watchtower turned and sunlight streamed through the window. He put the kryptonite back in his belt, and Clark sat up, injuries healing perfectly in the space of minutes. Bruce felt a pang of envy.

"I…" Clark said. "I should be angry with you."

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. _Yes, please just yell at me._

"You really, really hated that."

He nodded.

"Because its true."

Silence. It wasn't a question.

Clark looked at him. "You know we love you."

Bruce stood and brushed some imaginary dust off the coffee table. "Mm-hmm."

"It's true. You don't have to prove anything."

"Please don't go all Doctor Phil on me."

Clark half-smiled. "What can I say? I grew up raising corn."

"It's readily apparent." Bruce turned away and straightened the covers on the bed, smoothing out every last wrinkle until it was perfect.

"The rest of us are going out for coffee tonight. Want to come?"

"I don't need your misplaced sympathy."

"Please?" Clark said.

Bruce looked at him for half a minute. "…All right."

Clark smiled, and they walked together to the transporters.


	4. Kryptonite

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I'm also working on a couple non-fanfic projects that are taking a lot of my time.**

~Kryptonite~

He hated it. If there was a way to cleanse the earth of that infernal green rock, he would do it in an instant.

Especially right now.

"He'll be okay," Diana said.

"I am not concerned about that," Bruce hit the power button on one of the spare monitor-room computers. He accidentally cracked the plastic.

"You haven't used a single contraction since we got back," She put her hands on his shoulders and started rubbing his back. It felt good. He pulled away.

"I am going to check on Clark," Bruce leapt up from the chair and started towards the medical bay.

* * *

It was pointless. All he could see was the backsides of two white-clad surgeons and a lot of blood. It did nothing to set his mind at ease. The lead box the doctors had to hold the Kryptonite shards that had spread through Clark's body was half filled.

It wasn't only green. Luthor's bomb had had all the varieties: red, yellow, orange…

Like a deadly fruit salad. Bruce almost laughed at himself. It was something that Wally would say, trying to lighten the least humorous of circumstances.

He watched the heart monitor on the far wall. The even blips were more reassuring. Clark wouldn't have to be hooked up to that thing if he'd only been faster, or if he'd known enough to tell him to get out of that area.

He kept watching the monitor. The sound-proof glass assured that he couldn't hear anything, but as long as that monitor kept….

It flat-lined.

At first Bruce thought he'd imagined it. He closed his eyes tight, and opened them to chaos. The doctors were scrambling for devices on carts and the walls. He saw a young nurse pull a defibrillator down. At this point Clark was basically human, bleeding out like any other.

Clark's body arched as the nurse pressed the paddles down onto his chest. The monitor spiked and fell again.

Bruce watched with all the feeling of a researcher watching a simulation in a lab. It wasn't real. Superman was invulnerable, right?

The nurse tried again. The monitor spiked and returned to its normal rhythm. All the doctors let out the breaths they had been holding. Bruce exhaled too.

More shards were pulled out with a sharp pair of tweezers. All the white-coats gathered around as a particularly long piece of red was pulled from a place close to the heart. All that vaporized yellow in Clark's bloodstream assured he wasn't going to get out of this one with an hour and some vitamin D.

He should have known about that bomb.

Bruce let go of the railing he hadn't realized he was hanging onto. The heart monitor kept its pace, steadier now.

Clark would be all right, this time. Bruce didn't let himself think about the next.

He hated the damn rock.

* * *

**As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	5. Streetrat

~Street-rat~

Clark and Diana were standing by the portal, each holding their glowing cube. Bruce glared at the swirl vortex. Darkseid's scheme really was quite good this time. He had hidden pieces of the omega-complex, capable of destroying or saving the universe, in Superman, Wonder Woman, and Batman's pasts.

Specifically, somewhere in the first forty-eight hours of their sixteenth birthdays.

"C'mon," Clark said. "We don't have that long to reunite these things before Darkseid starts his plan."

Bruce set the right coordinates in the time machine and stepped back while it sputtered, the n-energy cutting a hole through space-time.

Clark put a hand on his back and pushed him gently forward. "Just you left, Bruce."

He jumped in.

* * *

They emerged from the portal in a dirty, crowded street. Stalls made of plywood an rags lined the lane. Shouts filled the air, all in Mandarin and Taiwanese. Hands flung strange objects and food and clothing at passerby.

They stayed in the shadows.

"Where are you?" Diana asked. "Disguised? Everyone here is Asian."

Bruce had his arms crossed. They weren't costumed, for obvious reasons, but Diana still couldn't read his look. "Give it a minute…"

The loud roar of a motor pierced the chatter. Sirens followed.

A black motorcycle exploded out of the end of the street, followed by three Thai police cars. The rider was holding a brown sack with expensive-looking silk poking out of the top.

The motorcycle zipped through the narrow street around carts and goats and the maze of makeshift stalls.

"It's a dead end," Clark said. "He's got nowhere to go."

Bruce stayed silent.

Officers rushed from the cars, running after the motorcycle.

The end of the street was coming up quick. The rider turned sharply to the side, headed straight for a flower stall. The old woman manning it dove out of the way. The motorcycle drove up the stall and onto its sloped roof, and then it was gone, airborne, and over the wall.

The lead officer tore of his cap and threw it on the ground.

Bruce took off, leaping over the wall after the cyclist. Clark looked at Diana, shrugged, and followed suit. When they were on the other side, Bruce was already down another small street.

"Wait!" Clark called, catching up with him. "We don't have time to waste catching a petty thief."

"Yes, we do," Bruce replied, still running after the black motorcycle. "That thief is me."

Diana and Clark stopped for a moment. Bruce sensed their pause.

"A kid's gotta eat," he said, and took off again.

* * *

The trail lead them to a tenement by a bay. Dirty clothes were strung between the buildings, and animals roamed freely. The pavement (where there was pavement) was covered in muck.

"This was where you lived when you were sixteen?" Clark asked, when they stopped at a dilapidated building.

"Yep," Bruce said, with a small amount of pride, and opened the door.

Inside, open hallways wound their way to doorless rooms. Bruce navigated the maze expertly, coming to a halt in front of a room that had a sheet across the door. He tore it down.

A thin boy, undoubtedly Bruce, was standing in the room, helmet still in his hands.

He gave them half a glance and spat, "What do _you _want."

Diana, ever the diplomat, swallowed her surprise. "We're looking for a cube, about as big as your fist and glowing. It's very…important we find it."

"Interesting," the young Bruce said. "And should I be in possession of this cube, what are you going to give me for it."

"You're a thief," the older Bruce, standing in the shadows, broke in. "You're lucky we don't just turn you in."

Clark carefully stepped over to block the path between the two. The floorboard creaked and bent under his foot. He looked at Bruce, who only gave him the smallest of shrugs.

Diana, again, "I'm sure there's something we can agree to. Perhaps rent for new quarters…?"

The boy laughed. "You don't come from around here, do you?" He reached into an army green messenger bag on the floor and pulled out the cube they had been searching for. He tossed it up and caught it again.

"Neither do you," Bruce reached for the cube. The boy pulled it away quickly and sneered.

"Told you, you have to pay."

Bruce snapped his hand forward and suddenly the boy was on the floor. He leapt up again and jumped at his older counterpart.

"Think you can beat me?" The boy asked, aiming for a roundkick. Clark noticed he needed a haircut.

The next few minutes were a flurry of movement. The boy's foot connected with Bruce's face, who grabbed him by the neck, and then there was a punch and two more kicks and some movements that looked very brutal and that Clark could not put a name to.

It ended with Bruce, bleeding from the nose, pinning the boy to the ground and wrenching the cube out of his hands.

"Stupid little street rat," he said. "Don't mess with your superiors." And he knocked his younger self unconscious.

Silence.

"Was that really necessary?" Diana asked, at the same time as Clark said, "Did you just give yourself a concussion?"

"Yes," Bruce said simply, and took the other cubes from their space in the pack, fitting them neatly together. There was a sudden flash of light, and a smell of smoke, and they were standing back in the watchtower, and in their costumes. Time was successfully reset.

Clark and Diana blinked away the sparks in their eyes. Bruce was already walking down the hall.

"Wait," Diana said. "Do you even have a _reason_?"

"I was teaching him a lesson," Bruce replied, without a backward glance.


	6. Silence Followup to Psych

**A/N: This is a sequel/ follow-up to "Psych" (and there might be one more to come), so I guess it really isn't a one-shot, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!**

(Events take place three days after "Psych")

* * *

"Are you really not going to talk to me?" Diana asked. Actually, Bruce wouldn't even turn to look at her.

"I know you're angry. But it was required, and not by us."

She waited. Bruce kept his eyes on the monitor, scanning global police frequencies and government channels for any sign of trouble.

He had the lights off. She reached over and flicked them on. He turned them back off.

"What you did to Clark wasn't right, Bruce," she said. His hands paused for a second over the keyboard, clenched briefly into fists, and then he resumed typing. "You can't just pull out a chunk of Kryptonite every time the two of you get into a disagreement."

"Is that what it was?" he asked, the first words he'd spoken to her in four days, " A _disagreement_? You trussed me up like a pig and forced me to say whatever I was asked."

"That's known as honesty, Bruce. Maybe if you practiced it more it wouldn't have been such a painful experience."

He rose from the chair and grabbed her by the arm. She wanted to both throw him into a wall and apologize.

"We were trying to help. And it's not like you wouldn't have had to do it anyway."

"You weren't helping," he snapped. "Trust me. Unless reopening old wounds is somehow helpful, which I doubt even your damn _shrinks_ would agree with. All you did was force me somewhere I didn't want to go."

He released her arm.

"Trust me, Diana, if there was any such thing as Kryptonite for you I wouldn't hesitate to use it right now."

And he left. Diana stood in the darkened monitor room for one minute more, then flipped on the lights and left.

* * *

In the cafeteria, Diana took at seat next to Flash, hoping for some lame jokes and a break from the conversation she'd had with Bruce.

She didn't get it.

"Hey, Di!" Wally said, waving a french fry at her. "Good, huh?" He grinned, then stopped.

"What's up with you and Bats?"

Diana, who had been about to eat a forkful of pasta, paused and looked at him. "What?"

"Well, I know you and Supes did something, because he was mad at the both of you but I guess he and Clark made up cause he actually went for coffee with him and GL."

Diana sighed. "We thought we were helping I guess we didn't. Clark seems to have an…easier relationship with Bruce than I do, because he's still angry with me.

"What'd you do? Crash the Bat-tank or whatever Bats' vehicle of the week is?"

"You know how that psychologist came to check us all out?"

Flash nodded and ate a fry. He had ketchup on his nose. "He gave me a lollipop."

"Clark and I thought it would be good for Bruce if he actually had to talk instead of rattling off stock answers," Diana looked down and twirled the pasta around and around her plastic fork. "A so we—I, I suppose—tied him up with my lasso and he was forced to tell the truth."

Flash choked on his orange soda. "You did _what_ to him?"

"I did nothing but let him actually have a somewhat meaningful experience out of all this!"

"Meaningful _how_?" Flash asked. "Did you expect him to come out dressed in white or something? Aren't you and Clark like his best friends? Wasn't that a little—I don't know—_cruel_?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said.

"There are things I don't want to have to say, Di. And I'm not Bruce. You don't need a psychologist to tell you he isn't the happiest guy around. No one likes to be exposed. All you did was take away his protection."

Diana looked down at her plate. When they'd untied him, all she could see was the look of pure hate he'd given them.

"And geez, from his best friends. You're the one who always wonders why he doesn't trust us more," Flash took a sip of soda.

"You're right," she admitted.

Flash finished his fries and started on his hamburger. "What the psych guy say, anyway?"

"I don't know. Clark saw the report and then went to talk to Bruce. He wouldn't let me see it."

"So it was pretty bad."

"I guess," she pushed around the pasta and decided she wasn't hungry. "I know there was something about 'trust issues' on there and some other stuff."

"Maybe you should go apologize, Di," Flash tossed out his trash.

"How do you know I haven't?"

Wally smiled. "You mean well Di, and for the most part you turn out to be right. But you are a princess, and therefore have a princess-complex which involves being a bossy-pants and not liking being wrong."

Diana opened her mouth to protest. Flash smiled. She shut it again and nodded. He was right.

"Thank you, Wally," she said. "You've been a big help."

* * *

"The master is _downstairs_," Alfred moved the hands of the old grandfather clock to midnight and swung it open to reveal the stairs to the Batcave.

"Thanks, Alfred," Diana descended into the murky darkness. At the end of the winding stairs she could see the greenish light of the computer monitor and hear whirring machinery, no doubt one of Bruce's experiments.

He had his back to her when she stepped off the last step, but she knew that he could feel her presence.

"You've already broken your vow of silence towards me," she said, her voice echoing in the cave. "Just let me talk. Please."

He turned to her, set down the thick file he was holding, "You have three minutes."

"_Bruce—_"

"Two minutes forty-two seconds."

Diana took a deep breath, and looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry. We were wrong. _I_ was wrong, and I couldn't accept that before."

Bruce stayed silent.

She bit her lip and continued. "I know you're still mad at me. And I know you don't trust me as much. I guess…you shouldn't. I wouldn't trust myself as much either. But please, will you at least not be _as_ mad anymore?"

She held up the grocery bag she'd been holding behind her back. "I brought ice cream. Kal said this was your favorite flavor."

"Are you trying to curry favor with _ice cream_?" Bruce asked.

Diana couldn't see his eyes behind that mask, but still squirmed under the invisible gaze. She sighed and lowered the bag. "All right. I'll go."

"I didn't say I didn't accept," Bruce said. Diana felt herself grin.

Bruce walked over to her, then stopped six paces short.

"What?"

"You can't…" he reached out and brushed the golden lasso by her side. "You have to promise not to do that to me again. Ever."

She nodded. "I promise," she took the lasso off and set it on a small table. "Bruce."

"Yes?"

"Today—" she stopped, unsure if she was crossing a line too soon.

"What."

"I made Kal show me the report."

Bruce was absolutely silent. He bit his lip and just for a second looked away from her.

"Look, you know we'll be here for you right? If you ever needed us?"

Bruce pursed his lips and dug the toe of his boot into the ground. "This is exactly why I didn't want to do that."

"Bruce."

"Yes," he said. "I know."

She smiled, and took two bowls out of the grocery bag.

The ice cream was good.


	7. Smile

**A/N: Thanks to Karysa Mercury for this chapter's prompt. And yeah, I know this one is kind of a shorty, but hopefully it's still good.**

~Smile~

Batman was kneeling in the dust and the ashes, beneath the skeleton of the Daily Planet building. His arm hurt—broken, probably, from the Joker's attack--but he hardly felt it.

"Did we beat him?" Clark asked. His breathing was rickety and getting worse.

"Yes," Bruce said. Warm Kryptonian blood was soaking into his costume. Clark shifted in his arms and moaned.

"Lois…is she…okay?"

"Yes."

"Diana? Wally?" Clark looked up at him. The kryptonite arrow was sticking out of his side, with a little _Ha Ha!_ etched into the shaft. It turned Bruce's stomach.

"They're hurt, but they'll be okay," Bruce tucked away a lock of hair that had fallen in Clark's face. "So will you, as soon as the medics stitch you up."

"Bruce, you're a terrible liar."

"I've been told I'm actually very good at it," it was about as much humor as he could muster.

"Fine, then you're really bad at trying to make people feel better," Clark swallowed hard and put his hand to his side. His eyes closed halfway.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said. "I'm sorry."

"Isn't your fault," Clark reached up and brushed some of the ashes off his face. His eyes were glazed and distant. "Don't think I've _ever_ seen you smile."

"You expect me to smile?" Bruce blinked three times to keep back tears.

"No…." Clark closed his eyes, then made himself open them again. "You don't….not even after Diana kissed, you back when that woman made us into kids."

"Morgan Le Fay," Bruce said. "I didn't know you remembered that."

"Was sweet," Clark turned his head against Bruce's chest. "Promise me you will."

"What?"

"Smile more often....For me?"

Bruce forced his mouth into what he thought a smile probably was, even though there was no use in keeping back tears now. "How's this?"

Clark stared at him, smiling faintly himself. "You need practice."

He closed his eyes.

Bruce held his hand more tightly. "Kal, please don't do this. Please."

No answer.

"Kal?"

Clark wasn't breathing. Superman was dead.

From out of the sky came a huge black square, shaped like a bomb from an episode of Bugs Bunny. Scrawled on the side was _Farewell, Batsy!_ A parting gift from the Joker.

Bruce barely had time to read the words before it exploded, sending him flying back, away from Clark's body, and slamming him against the steel remains of the Daily Planet. His head cracked against the girder, and everything went black.

* * *

….Bruce woke up in a bright room. Everything was blurry. A blue shape was looming over him. His vision focused and he jerked back.

"You're dead," he said, through the bad taste in his mouth.

"Welcome back," Clark looked down at him, concerned. "Don't tug on your arm like that."

Bruce turned and looked at his right side. There was a black brace on his wrist and a strap holding his hand still for an IV. He heard Clark say, "It's broken, but not that badly, and I figured you probably wouldn't stand for a cast."

"Oh," he said, numbly. Then, because it was expected, "Ow."

Then he turned back to Clark, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. His cape was covering most of his chest. Bruce reached over and pulled it back. No arrow. No wound at all, or even the slight line where bandages would be.

"Hey," Clark held his hand. "What's up?"

"You're not hurt," His head ached, and he let Clark ease him back onto the pillow.

"Bruce, I'm fine," Clark stood up and raised his arms. "See? You're the one who fought three Arkham escapees and got doused with Scarecrow's toxin."

"Scarecrow." His mind felt like it was full of cotton, and his mouth for that matter. It was hard to figure out how to talk.

"Scarecrow," Clark pulled the covers back over him. "Though I'm kind of flattered that one of your fears is my death, you really should sleep. You look like hell."

Bruce didn't hear him. He was thinking about what the dying Clark had said.

Clark glanced down at him and paused. "What _are_ you doing?

"Trying to smile," Bruce said serenely. "Am I doing a good job?"

Clark stared at him for a full minute, then checked the label on the IV. "Good god, what do they have you doped up on? There shouldn't be _that_ much morphine in here."

Bruce just drifted off to sleep.


	8. Date

**A/N: Just kind of a silly chapter, but I've had this fic in my head for awhile.**

~Date~

Clark beamed directly into the meeting room, ten minutes after five, and out of costume. He was carrying a long white box and he was wearing an ugly brown suit.

"You're late," Batman said, from behind his report on the Watchtower's energy consumption.

"Hi to you too, Bruce, and thanks for the death glare," Clark slipped into his seat. He set the box in front of him on the table.

"I hope that has your samples from the uridian asteroid," Batman lowered the report slightly.

Clark smacked himself on the forehead. "Cripes! I knew there was something I forgot."

Batman just sighed.

"Going somewhere, Supes?" Flash asked, helpfully.

Clark beamed. "Lois is letting me take her somewhere fancy for the first time. I'm teleporting down there as soon as the meeting's done." He gestured to the suit. "That's why I'm not in my uniform."

Bruce and Diana looked appalled. In unison, they said, "You're wearing _that_?"

Clark looked at them. Wally and John stared. "What's wrong with it?" Clark asked.

"It's so very—" Diana started.

"--Brown," Bruce finished.

"And you're wearing it with a yellow shirt," Diana plucked distastefully at his lapel.

"And a red tie," Bruce examined his cufflinks and looked particularly unsatisfied. Green Lantern and Flash discreetly scooted their chairs away. J'onn managed to put on an expression of being only slightly flabbergasted.

"Excuse me," Clark said, snatching his sleeves away from the two of them, "But what happened to the Amazon warrior and Dark Knight who were sitting next to me and acting quite sane a moment ago?"

"They were replaced by the princess and the billionaire," Wally said. "And really, Supes, you ought to listen to a princess and a billionaire on matters of fashion."

"When are you're reservations?" Bruce asked.

"Seven," Clark answered before he could stop himself.

Diana glanced at the clock. "We've got time." She and Bruce grabbed Clark, pulled him to his feet, and pushed him out the door.

"Hey!" Clark exclaimed, as the transporter beam wrapped around them and they disappeared from the Watchtower.

When Clark opened his eyes, he found himself in a closet. A large closet. He pulled down a jacket from the shelf next to him and read the tag. Apparently, he was in a large closet with very, _very_ nice clothes. Which could only mean one thing.

"Put this on," Diana said, and tossed a charcoal suit at him. Clark stood there with it in his hands, too astonished to quite know what to say.

Diana shook her head, came over, and unbuttoned his jacket. She was halfway through undressing him when he realized what she was doing, slapped her hands away, and put the suit on himself.

"These too," Bruce appeared at the closet door, holding two small objects in his hand. He grabbed Clark's wrists and attached the cufflinks. Then he and Diana stepped back and examined their work.

Clark poked his head out of the closet. They were in a vast bedroom. Bruce's bedroom, to be exact, and that meant these were Bruce's clothes.

He felt the suit's tag poke him in the back. "Bruce, you've never _worn_ this before."

"So?" Bruce said. "I've worn hardly any of this stuff. I don't like it. There's a couple of suits in the back that I wear."

Then, to Diana, he said: "Not this one." Then he went back into the closet, presumably to find something more suitable.

She nodded in agreement, and told Clark to take the suit off. "That would look better on Bruce. The two of you don't have the same coloring."

"What do you mean?" Clark threw up his hands. "We both have black hair and blue eyes!"

"Bruce has paler skin," she took away the suit and left him standing in his undershirt and boxers.

"That's because _Bruce_ spends all of his time in a _cave_!" Clark shouted after her, as she too vanished into the closet. He was feeling quite fed up with being played with like a doll, and more than a little drafty. He sat down awkwardly on the bed.

"What's this about me?" Bruce came up from behind him (how this was possible Clark didn't know) and made him put on a slightly darker suit with almost imperceptible pinstripes in it and a shirt that was a peculiar color between lilac and periwinkle.

Clark checked the tag and shuddered at the cost.

"Put it on," Bruce said. Clark obeyed, simply because he was cold.

Diana stepped out of the closet with an outfit of her own. "That's good, Bruce."

"Why thank you," Bruce straightened Clark's lapel.

"You're having as much fun with this as she is!" Clark said. "You practically have a pleasant expression!"

Bruce looked down at him. "Well, it's a slight bit enjoyable to see someone actually putting this stuff to good use. Although if you had any fashion sense this wouldn't be necessary."

Clark opened his mouth to object but Bruce cut him off.

"It was _brown,_ Clark. And you were wearing it with a yellow shirt."

Clark found he could not object to that. Suddenly he realized something. "Where'd my suit go?"

"I incinerated it," Bruce replied, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "And that awful polyester tie, as well."

Clark gaped at him. "Bruce! That thing was a hundred dollars."

"That's it?" Bruce asked. "For a _suit_? Where did you get it, Goodwill?"

Clark frowned.

"And anyhow, you're going to take this stuff, right?" Bruce said.

Clark looked down at the very expensive clothes he was wearing. "If I get something on it, I'll get it dry cleaned, I promise."

Bruce gave him a pointed look. "You can roll around in the mud for all I care. I don't want it back."

Diana came out with a different shirt and told him to put it on. He did. Bruce and Diana nodded approvingly. Bruce got him some cufflinks (Clark didn't even want to know if they had real pearls).

He tried one last tact. "Lois knows clothes. She'll know I shouldn't be wearing these."

Diana was unmoved. "Are you going to go naked?"

He had to admit that he wasn't. Bruce was examining him with those dark eyes. Clark scooted away. He was pretty sure he wouldn't like what was going through the Batman's head.

"Just one more thing," Bruce said. He reached over and ruffled Clark's hair.

"Hey!" Clark tried to comb his hair back into place with his hand. Bruce messed it up again.

"It looks like it's shellacked to your head, Clark," Bruce said.

"At least leave me one normal thing!" Clark exclaimed and put his hands over his head. He glanced at the clock. "I have five minutes to get to Metropolis."

Diana gave him a final once-over, straightened his sleeve, and turned to Bruce, who shrugged and pronounced him fit for society. Clark leapt to his feet.

"Finally," as he turned, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. "I look like a rake!"

"Well, I've heard Lois likes those types," Bruce said drily. Diana said something over the communicator in her ear and a transporter beam appeared form the ceiling. She pushed him towards it.

"Have a good date!" she said, as Clark tripped and fell face-first into the beam. He wound up in front of the restaurant.

Muttering about crazy friends and foppish suits, he walked into the building to find Lois. She was seated at the bar, wait with a lemon drop martini. He sat down next to her, and she turned. For a moment it appeared that she didn't recognize him, but then she smiled.

"Clark! You look great. Wherever did you get that suit?"

Clark just groaned.


	9. Thanksgiving

~Thanksgiving~

"Please pass the turkey."

Ma Kent picked up the platter and passed it to her son, seated next to her at the dinner table. A dozen hands reached in and grabbed parts of the bird. Ma looked up and smiled at their company.

The redheaded boy was buzzing around the room, laughing and pretending to be drunk on his ginger ale. The man who'd shown up glowing ("came from Oa," he'd said by way of explanation) was in the corner with the winged woman, back where they thought no one could see.

Oh, but Ma Kent knew every inch of this kitchen.

Clark's other friends were there too. The black-haired woman was leaning against the counter with a glass of red wine, talking to Kara, and the shapeshifter was sitting on a chair, petting the cat. Kara had invited over a couple of friends, too, and most of them were in the living room, wanting "teen titan space" away from the adults.

The last member of the party was hanging by the door, holding a glass of water. Ma hadn't seen him drink from it, and he had yet to take any food. He shifted from foot to foot, bit his lip, and basically tried to look like he wasn't exquisitely uncomfortable in her home.

Ma turned to her son. "Clark, what's that boy's name?"

Clark looked around, then to the living room. "Who, Kid Flash? His name's Bart."

"No," she discreetly pointed. Pa looked over too, seeing the two of them conferring.

Clark laughed. "Oh. Sorry, Ma. He's just the last person I would think of as a boy. That's Bruce."

Ma paused. "I thought you said Bruce was…"

"Batman, yes."

"The scary one." She watched the young man in her doorway. He looked anything but scary.

"Yes."

Ma rose from her seat and took a plate off the counter. She piled it high with turkey and mashed potatoes, yams, cranberry sauce, and green beans. Then, she took it over to the boy.

As she approached, he jumped and stood a little straighter. She smiled at him.

"Would you like some food?" she asked, and pushed the plate into his hands before he could object. "Of course you would."

He opened his mouth. Ma grabbed his free hand and pulled him close to the table. She pushed him forcefully into the seat next to Clark.

"Wine?" She asked.

"Actually, I don't—" he started. She plunked a full glass of white down in front of him, handed him a fork, and pointed to the plate.

"I expect you to clean your plate, or no dessert."

"What?" Bruce looked at her like she was a mad bag lady. Clark started laughing, took a sip of water, and nearly choked.

"You heard me," she said. "And you had better take seconds of vegetables. They're good for you."

Bruce opened his mouth and shut it again. Finally, he said, for the second time, "_What?_"

She pointed to his plate. He stabbed a green bean with the fork and put it in his mouth to please her.

When she went back to sit next to Pa, she heard him talking to Clark.

"Your mom is a force of nature."

Ma watched Clark smile.

"You heard her," he said, "Eat your veggies. They help you grow big and strong."

Bruce leaned closer to Clark and growled something about Kryptonite. Ma felt a slight shiver and realized a little of why Clark had said he was the scary one. But really, Bruce seemed like such a nice boy, if a tad too shy.

By and by, he warmed up. He ate all the food on the plate (and took seconds of everything except potatoes and cranberry sauce, which he took thirds of. He did try to hide it, but she still saw). The group migrated to the living room with the kids, where they all watched _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving_.

The black-haired woman, Diana, came over and sat next to Bruce on the sofa. She kissed his cheek, and he let her.

They watched the movie and after it was done, Clark put in another. He got up to help Ma and Pa clear the table, and Bruce followed. The four of them put the dishes in the sink and moved the leftovers into containers.

When Bruce reached up to put away an unused glass, Ma noticed a black brace on his ankle. He'd kept his shoes on, and that had hidden the injury until now.

"Hurt yourself?" she asked, kindly, to make conversation.

Bruce spun around, nearly dropping a plate. Ma pointed at his foot.

"No," he said, much too quickly, and yanked down the hem of his pant leg to hide the brace again. Clark looked at him, and he glared back.

"Excuse me," Bruce said, and walked back to the living room, standing behind a wall so he couldn't be seen from the kitchen.

Ma turned to Clark. "What did I say? I was only trying to be nice."

Clark shrugged and smiled wanly. "Bruce can be…sensitive. He probably feels exposed already without his mask or made-up persona," he paused, "and I do tend to harp on him about getting hurt."

Ma considered this, and nodded. After they had cleared the dishes she brought out two pecan pies and sliced them up. She went to the living room and offered wedges to everyone. Bruce was sitting by Diana again, but there wasn't any kissing this time.

She handed Bruce a large piece and waited for him to object.

"Thank you," he said, surprising her, "it looks delicious, Mrs. Kent."

She beamed. "Please. Everyone around town calls me Ma."

He smiled, slightly.

* * *

Late that night, while everyone was in the process of leaving, Clark and Bruce stood out on the porch.

"So, are you still unhappy you lost that bet?" Clark asked.

"It wasn't an entirely a bad night," It was as much of a concession as Bruce was willing to make.

Clark grinned, "Don't make me have Diana force it out of you with the lasso."

"Fine. It was slightly pleasant," Bruce paused, took a black circle from his belt and clicked a button on the top. "Although your mother is a little scary."

Clark laughed at that one. "She was just trying to draw you out. Apparently she's going to refer to you now as 'that nice shy boy'."

Bruce groaned.

"She also said you should come over again. And coming from Ma, that's not a suggestion, it's a command."

Both of them jumped when a window above them was flung open. Ma Kent stuck her head out.

"Yes, you're welcome anytime!" she called down, then closed the window again. Bruce stared up at the second floor.

"Seriously, are you sure she isn't a meta?" he asked.

* * *

Ma Kent watched from the window as a sleek black plane appeared above her house, and Bruce used a line from his belt to get up to it. Once its pilot was inside, it sped away as silently as it had come.

She chuckled at Bruce's last comment. Yes, Ma Kent knew every inch of her house, including the crack in the wall on the second floor that allowed you to hear the conversations of people on the porch.


	10. Sick Part One

**A/N: As you may have noticed, I changed this series to 20 one-shots. This is because I've started writing crazy long things that end up not being one-shots (like this). Therefore, after I finished these 20 I'm going to start on an actual chapter fic.**

~Sick~

~Part One~

Bruce kicked Killer Croc off, throwing the monster back. Croc splashed as he landed back in the sewer. Batman jumped back on him and cuffed him to a lead pipe. The cuffs were Mr. Miracle's design. There was no way Croc would be able to get out of it.

With his free hand, Croc slashed Bruce's shoulder, cutting through the Kevlar. Bruce hit Croc across the jaw with his other hand, knocking him out. Then, he hauled the creature up to the GCPD waiting outside above the manhole.

*******************

He had monitor duty two hours later. By that time his shoulder ached where Croc had cut him, but it wasn't bad enough to warrant more than a bandage. He sat at the monitor and ran patrol screenings.

About two hours in a headache started up at his temples. He ignored it and tried to focus on coordinating missions for the rest of his shift.

"Superman, Flash, Green Lantern and Batman please report to the teleport pad," J'onn's voice crackled over the intercom. Another mission. Bruce sighed. He'd been hoping to actually get some sleep before the Founder's weekly meeting.

Instead, he went off to fight Weather Wizard, Grodd, and Toyman.

*******************

They'd already been fighting for an hour.

One of Toyman's deadly jack-in-the-boxes exploded over Flash's head. Superman grabbed a manhole cover and threw it towards the advancing horde of mini robots. Green Lantern sparred with Weather Wizard, deflecting a cyclone of hail. Batman was left to face Grodd.

"Give up," Grodd said, growling. Even with his psychic powers disabled, he was an intelligent and formidable foe. "You _biped."_

Bruce just shook his head at the poor excuse for an insult and threw an exploding grenade at Grodd. It exploded in the gorilla's face, putting him off balance. Batman leapt forward, ready to knock him out.

He pulled back his hand for a kai punch. It would be plenty of force to drop Grodd.

Bruce went for the blow. Grodd snarled, but he was still blinking away sparks from the explosion. Bruce swung at Grodd, and suddenly his headache intensified to a wave of dizziness. He stumbled and Grodd took the opportunity to leap up and pin him to the ground.

Batman kicked the gorilla in the chest, aiming for the soft spot below the sternum. Grodd coughed but was still able to hold him down. Bruce kicked him again, with both feet, and managed to get a batarang from his belt. This he stabbed into the gorilla's arm.

Grodd reared back, letting him go for an instant. This time Bruce took no chances. He hit Grodd as hard as he could with a pair of brass knuckles and Grodd fell, unconscious.

Clark swooped down, holding a similarly incapacitated Toyman by the collar. Flash zoomed up to them, holding the controls for Toyman's robo-army. Green Lantern brought Weather Wizard, wrapped in a piece of chain-link fencing. The cuffed the villains together.

"Good job," Clark said.

Flash stuck his tongue out at Weather Wizard. Green Lantern sighed and shook his head.

They all noticed Batman staring off into space.

Clark switched to x-ray vision, but Bruce was wearing a lead-lined cowl so it was no use.

"Are you okay?" He asked. Bruce jumped slightly and snapped back to reality. "You look pale. More so than usual."

"I'm fine," Bruce snapped, too sharply.

"Your hands are shaking," Flash said. Bruce glanced down and curled his hands into fists. It was cold out.

"I said I'm fine!"

"All right," Clark said, and took a step back from him. "Whatever you say." Then, to all of them, he said, "Remember, the meeting's in a half hour."

They teleported back to the Watchtower.

* * *

Diana made soup. She'd been trying to steadily introduce the other leaguers to Themysicra's somewhat unusual delicacies. So far, the only one that everyone loved was Bollidash Soup.

"Look what I made!" She carried in a pot of soup and eight bowls.

"First dibs!" Flash yelled, and ladled himself some as soon as she had set down the pot. Diana served the others, them herself.

"No thanks," Bruce said. The thought of eating made his stomach turn.

Diana looked a little hurt. "You had two helpings last time I made it."

"I'm just not hungry."

Diana watched him for a couple seconds, then put the pot on the counter without serving him any. "Are you sure? You look cold."

He was cold, and hot at the same time. Mostly he just felt feverish. Not that he would ever tell _them_ that.

The meeting was an hour long but Bruce really didn't remember much of what happened. Flash gave some presentation on why they should serve energy drinks in the cafeteria, and Clark talked about a new thing J'onn had installed on the Watchtower. What "it" was, Bruce couldn't say.

"Where are you headed?" Clark asked, when it was over.

"Monitor duty," Bruce pushed in his chair. "I pulled the two-day shift."

Clark looked like he was going to say something, then thought better of it. Instead he just nodded and left.

Bruce took the stairs. Halfway down, he had to grab the railing when he suddenly felt lightheaded. He shook it off and went to the monitor room

******************

He stared at the computer screen for twenty minutes before the headache got to him.

Bruce closed his eyes for just a second.

*****************

"He's running a temperature."

Bruce opened his eyes to see Clark and Diana standing over him. Diana had her hand on his forehead. He shook her off and sat up.

Clark scanned him with a tricorder. "Before you say 'I'm fine' let me tell you that you've got a fever of a hundred and three."

"Just the fact that you were fast asleep on monitor duty _with your mask off_ shows you need to go to bed," Diana said.

Bruce stood up, and everything tilted. He brushed past Clark and Diana, ran to the bathroom, and threw up.

Clark was next to him in an instant, and handed him a glass of water. "Rinse your mouth out." Bruce did as he was told and let Clark put his arm around his shoulders. "You need rest."

"I know."

* * *

"_Are you in or out, Dent? We only have a week before the effects wear of, and this is the optimal time."_

"_I dunno. Let me flip the coin."_

"_Well?"_

"_I'm in."_

* * *

Clark found Bruce a sweater and a pair of fleece pajama pants. Bruce really didn't care enough to ask where they came from. He just put them on and crawled into bed. His room on the Watchtower was comfortable enough, and he hadn't wanted to deal with the teleporter.

"Where's Alfred?" Clark asked. "He wasn't home when I called."

Bruce decided to ignore the fact the Clark thought he needed a babysitter. "England." He yawned and snuggled deeper under the covers. "Or Scotland. I don't know. It's his second-cousin's wedding."

Clark nodded as if it was any help. He set a glass of ginger ale by the bedside. "Drink that sometime. You don't want to get dehydrated."

"But sleep first," Diana said from the doorway.

Clark looked down at Bruce, who was fast asleep with the covers pulled up over his chin. "I don't think that's necessary."

They turned out the lights and left.

* * *

In Gotham, Two-Face placed bombs at the furthest north and furthest south points of the city. They went off at two o'clock, just as planned. All the buildings with the word "double" in their names suddenly had the power go out, and in all the hotels called _Two Tree_ or _Two Gardens_ the water pipes suddenly burst.

Harvey Dent stood on top of the _Second Avenue_ publishing company and laughed at the citizens running haywire in the streets, and at the flooded roads. Cars were still trying to drive down Twenty-Second Street, stopping halfway down when the drivers realized that water was seeping in under the doors.

Harvey stopped laughing when he saw the blue streak coming at him from the west.

He was swept into the air, high enough for him to be able to make out a tugboat coming into the far east harbor.

Superman stopped at about two thousand feet up, and held Two-Face by the collar. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Two-Face's evil half grinned. "Two times two is four divided by two is two."

"That makes absolutely no sense," Superman said. Two face reached up, holding a knife. Clark paused, "Really, that's not going to hurt me—"

Two face sliced off the collar of his shirt, and started falling. Superman dove to catch him. Something whizzed past Clark's face, and by instinct, he turned to see what it was.

When he turned back, To-Face had vanished into thin air.

* * *

"You lost him?" Bruce asked. "And he was freefalling?"

"Yes," Clark said.

Bruce was still curled up in bed. There were dark circles under his eyes despite the fact that he had slept for a good seven hours. Clark scanned him discreetly with a tricorder and saw that his fever had gone up.

Bruce forced himself to sit up and looked at Clark. "It's April 22nd."

"So?"

"Tuesday."

Again, Clark shrugged. "Yeah."

Bruce gave him a look that obviously meant that he thought Clark should have already thought of whatever he was going to say. "That's wrong. Two-Face doesn't pull any schemes on Thursdays."

Clark must have had an utterly puzzled expression on his face because Bruce continued, "Wednesday is the middle of the week, while Monday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Thursday all have an even number of letters."

"So all the other days are okay to attack on. Then why start on Tuesdays now?" Clark thought it over for a few minutes, but couldn't come to a logical conclusion. Part of it, he decided, was the fact that Two-Face was mad, but he still asked, "Well, Bruce?"

No answer.

Clark turned. Bruce had his head resting on his knees and his eyes were closed. Clark shook him gently. "Bruce?"

"What?" Batman sat up. It took him a minute to realize where he was. "Two-Face…right. I don't know why he would start on Tuesdays."

"We'll get him," Clark said.

"No," Bruce pushed the covers off and started to get up. "It's my city."

He stood up, too fast, and stumbled. Clark caught him before he fell.

"You're not going anywhere. Not with a fever of…" Clark paused to scan him with the tricorder again. He looked at the reading then at Batman, and then at the device. "Geez, Bruce."

"What is it."

"One hundred and three point nine," Clark said. He got up, went into the small kitchen, and brought back a glass of water. Bruce shook his head and pushed the cup away. Clark set it by the bedside. "You need to drink that."

"I don't want to."

Clark pressed it into his hands. "Drink it slowly. Honestly, you have the worst case of the flu I've ever seen."

"The Gotham Harbor isn't the cleanest," Bruce took one small sip of the water and placed it back on the nightstand. He laid his head back on the pillow and tried to keep his eyes open.

"Don't worry, we'll figure it out," Clark said. "Diana, Wally, and I are heading to Gotham in a minute."

* * *

End Part One

_Cue suspenseful music_


	11. Sick Part Two

~Sick ~

~Part Two~

Twice during the night, Bruce woke up shivering and sick to his stomach. Once, he found himself curled up on the tile floor of the bathroom, head against the cool side of the porcelain bathtub. He was drenched in a cold sweat, and had no recollection of how he'd gotten there.

He stood up and stumbled back to bed. On the way, he caught a glimpse of the digital clock on the side table, and sleepily made a mental note to find how the mission had gone when he woke up again.

Then he fell into bed and finally slept, if fitfully.

* * *

Wonder Woman had interrogated a group of thugs-for-hire in a backstreet alley, and from that the three heroes had an address.

Two-Face's hideout was on the harbor, tucked back in a slimy warehouse district. Superman knocked the six padlocks off the door with a single wave of his hand. Diana disabled the ten gunmen, and Flash whisked the firearms to the police precinct on 4th street in the blink of an eye.

Something wrapped around Clark's neck. He ripped it away, and saw in his hand a green vine. He only had enough time to turn around before Poison Ivy's plants swathed him in a green cocoon and doused him in a yellow potion.

Flash heard Superman stop. "Supes?" he asked. Something pricked him in the shoulder. He brushed off whatever insect it was. Something emerged from the floor—a huge, ghastly armored worm with rows and rows of blade-sharp teeth.

Flash ran and ran, but he couldn't go fast enough.

Diana had flown into a dark corner of the warehouse, inside a labyrinth of packing crates. Someone laughed, wickedly, behind her. She spun.

Bruce was hanging from the ceiling with blood dripping onto the floor from his body. There was a wild, mad grin on his face. Diana gasped and ran to him.

Something jumped on her back, its sharp claws digging inches into her flesh. Diana tried to throw it off, but it was too strong. More and more of the creatures leapt onto her—black, anamorphous shadow demons—and dragged her to the ground.

Diana fell under their weight, and was forced, face down, onto the floor.

* * *

Bruce woke up and immediately reached for the clock. He'd been asleep for six hours. There were no new messages on his comlink, even though he'd made Clark promise to call as soon as Two-Face was apprehended.

He sighed and figured that the big blue Boy Scout had forgotten.

"Batman to Mr. Terrific," he said into the comm.

"Terrific here,"

"What time did Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash return?"

There was a pause at the other end. Batman heard Terrific going through lists on the computer, banging on the keyboard. He covered up the microphone and coughed.

Terrific came back on a moment later. "They haven't returned."

It was Batman's turn to pause. Six hours was by far long enough for three metahumans to capture one madman with a coin.

"Prep the transporter," he decided. "I'm beaming to Gotham."

"Are you sure? You sound…" Mr. Terrific took a moment to choose his next words carefully. "…unwell."

"I'm in the lab, doing experiments with EMP charges," Bruce threw off the covers. "The excess static electricity is messing with audio."

"Sure," was Terrific's only reply, but he didn't protest any further.

Bruce stood and grabbed the nightstand momentarily for support. After a moment the lightheadedness lessened and he opened the closet. He pulled out a clean costume and laid it on the bed, yanking off his sweat-soaked shirt.

After he put on the costume, he noticed the glass of water on the bedside table. He picked it up and made himself drain it before heading to the teleporter.

* * *

"How much longer?" Scarecrow hissed, thinly, through his burlap mask.

"Soon," Penguin said, as he picked his teeth with a paper umbrella.

"Did _he_ say so?" Poison Ivy asked. She stepped past the two men, stilettos clicking against the concrete floor of the warehouse. She walked up to where the Flash hung, suspended inert from the ceiling by piano wire, and turned his head this way and that.

"I am getting tired of this waiting," Ivy said, and flicked a hand across Flash's face, leaving three red scratches that healed nearly instantly.

"You're lucky we don't have the Clown to deal with," Mr. Freeze was in the corner, amusing himself by icing different parts of Superman's body.

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

"Luthor," Ivy purred. "There you are."

The bald man smiled and poked the unconscious Wonder Woman. "Yes, my dear. I'm sure you're glad to see me, not just my money."

Scarecrow crossed his legs and fiddled with a cockroach he'd picked off the floor. He pulled its legs off one by one, then threw the helpless bug back onto the floor. After crushing it, he said simply, "Money would be nice."

Luthor handed each of them a cardboard box filled with fresh dollar bills. "I can't believe I didn't hire you Gotham lunatics before. You're so…creative, compared to my usual associates."

"You've had too many experiences with the Joker," said Freeze. He came up to get his payment.

Something large and black dropped from the rafters, knocking Freeze's box and gun away.

"Batman!" Luthor said, and turned to Ivy. "You said…!"

"You're not supposed to be here!" Ivy's vines burst from the floor, winding around the Batman. They caught him around the neck and kept growing even as he hacked at them with a batarang. "You're _supposed_ to be flat on your back somewhere."

Batman's mind flashed back to the slashes on his arm. "Croc. You laced his claws with some toxin."

"Smart man," Mr. Freeze coated Batman's feet with ice. Bruce fell, and started hacking at the ice with a batarang. "But really it was a bioengineered virus."

He'd just cracked through the ice when Ivy's vines twisted around him and pulled him up off the floor. This time. Ivy didn't allow him any air. He snapped the vines with another batarang, and fell five feet. It took him a second to be able to breathe.

He leapt away as Penguin shot at him with the umbrella, and used a grappling hook to fly up to the rafters.

Up on the narrow metal beam Bruce made the mistake of looking down. It was a three-story drop, and he almost fell right then. Any major acrobatics were out of the question at this point. He just didn't have the balance.

The bullets continued to whiz past him, and it was then that he realized he had been standing motionless for at least two minutes. It was a miracle that the Penguin was a bad shot.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, Batman jumped to the next rafter, and the next, until he reached the middle of the warehouse. It was there that he found the others.

The only reason he could tell which one was which was from the tufts of hair sticking out of the tops of his friends' leafy coffins. From within the cocoon came alternating muffled screams and moans.

Batman tried to slice away the plants, but wherever he stabbed bark grew, too thick to cut through. From behind him, he heard footsteps.

"What have you done to them?" he asked, pulling two electrified batarangs and s handful of stun grenades from his belt.

"Simple," said Luthor, standing nearly ten feet above him on a stack of wooden crates. "By alternating Ivy's chemically-induced pleasure and Scarecrow's toxic fear at ten-second intervals, we are going to overload their hypothalamus' and release chemicals into their minds that will effectively melt their brains."

Luthor shot two beams of Kryptonite energy at Batman, who ducked. They ricocheted off Flash's prison and dissipated into the air. Bruce knocked out the Penguin with a batarang and threw the stun grenades at Scarecrow, Freeze, and Poison Ivy. It would slow them down for a little while. Then he started climbing after Luthor.

When they were on equal footing, Luthor turned and pressed a button on his watch. Batman clapped his hands over his ears, but it did little good. The whole warehouse spun and tilted. His vision blurred until he was seeing double.

"What's the matter, Batman?" Luthor asked, grabbing him by the neck. "Feeling a little dizzy?"

He threw Bruce into a stack of crates. Batman landed and rolled, unhurt, but the nausea hadn't subsided. He knelt on the floor, trying to find a way to stand up. Luthor snatched his cape and used it to fling him across the room.

This time Batman landed on his ankle and felt it twist under him. At least he was far enough away from Luthor now to feel the sonic effects wearing off. Still, the ankle made him pause for just long enough. Scarecrow leapt onto him and pulled his head back.

"You're inoculated against my toxins and Ivy's," Scarecrow hissed, while digging sharp nails into the almost-healed cuts on Batman's shoulder. "That's why you were supposed to be gone; so we could kill them first."

Batman knocked Scarecrow's head against the edge of a crate, shutting the psychopath up. Two down, three to go.

Luthor was still a good distance away, but Ivy and Freeze were almost upon him. Batman threw a batarang at Ivy. It sliced her arms and embedded itself in the top of Wonder Woman's cocoon. The green blood fizzed on the surface of the bark and became to eat away at it.

"No," Freeze said. Batman jumped out of the way as Freeze wildly swung at him with his ice gun. He dropped behind the villain and grabbed the gun, turning it on its user, until Mr. Freeze was encased in a small glacier.

Batman let the gun drop away and grabbed Ivy by the hair, holding her hands behind her back. He dragged her over to the cocoons.

"Release them," he said.

"Never!" she tried to pull more vines from the ground, but Batman pressed on the pressure point in her neck, preventing her from releasing the chemicals to do so.

"Fine," he said, and made a small cut on her side, dripping the blood on Superman's cocoon.

Batman had, at most, a minute before Luthor was close enough to use the sonics. He silently thanked whoever owned the warehouse for the mess of crates they had left as a nearly impenetrable maze.

He brought the razor-sharp batarang up to Ivy's neck and let it dig into her skin. "This isn't going fast enough."

A thin line of dark green blood dribbled from beneath the edge. Ivy winced, but held out. Batman dug it in a little more.

Too-late. Luthor reached for his wristwatch. Bruce had one chance. He brought out another batarang and aimed for the watch.

The shot was nearly perfect, but it was going to miss. Then, Luthor twitched the wrong way. The glass face of the watch broke and Luthor pulled it off before he was electrocuted.

Batman knocked him out with another batarang and threw a bola cord at him before he fell.

"Now then," he said, and pushed Ivy towards the cocoons. This time, she gave in.

Clark, Diana and Wally, stumbled from their prisons bleary-eyed but alive. What they saw at first was five villains in a heap on the floor. Then, they saw Batman, leaning against the wall, with the palms of his hands pressed up against it like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

"Bruce?" Clark asked. Underneath the mask, his friend was wild-eyed and shaking. He put his hand against Bruce's face, gauging his temperature, and his eyes widened. "You're burning up!"

Batman passed out into his arms.

* * *

_Two Days Later_

Wally, Diana, and Clark were sitting in the small kitchen tucked behind the main staircase. It was nearly midnight, and they were the only ones in the Watchtower.

"How's Bats?" Flash asked.

"He's better," said a voice from the doorway. They all jumped.

Bruce walked in, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He went to the fridge and started rummaging through it. His hair was sticking up oddly, and his eyes were still bloodshot, but he was remarkably less pale and shaky.

"What are you doing here?" Diana asked.

"I'm hungry."

Flash scooted his chair away. "Sorry," he said, when Batman gave him a look. "But if there's something that can knock _you_ off your feet, I don't want to get it."

"I'm not contagious," Bruce said, with just enough of an edge to make Wally swallow.

Clark pointed him to a chair. "Sit. I'll make you what you want."

Bruce didn't object to the offer. "How about foie gras?"

Clark wrinkled his nose. "You actually _want_ that?"

"Hell no." Bruce smiled softly. "I'll have a sandwich, and some water."

Clark plunked the meal down in front of him in under thirty seconds. Bruce thanked him and started eating. The other three watched him, slightly worried, until Diana laughed.

"What?" Bruce asked, through a mouthful of ham and cheese.

"You really must be better," she said, and pointed to his plate. He'd eaten half the sandwich and drank all the water in less than a minute.

"Want some more?" Clark asked, as Bruce devoured the other half in two bites.

He glanced at the clock. "No. I've missed patrol for a week." Bruce ran a hand through his matted hair. "And I probably need a shower first." He tossed the dishes into the sink and swept out of the room.

"Well, I guess some things never change," Flash said.

"No," Clark shook his head. "They certainly do not."


	12. Fight

~Fight~

It started as simple argument.

Superman and Batman had monitor duty together, which wasn't unusual. But today, both of them arrived tired and probably over caffeinated, which didn't help.

"You're doing it wrong," Bruce said, watching as Clark ran the calculations for the Watchtower's energy intake.

Clark turned glared at him. "I can handle it, Bruce."

"You should put in the nuclear-conversion equation first."

"It doesn't matter!"

"It will cut processing time by nearly twenty seconds," Bruce leaned over and switched the order of the equations. Clark slapped his hand away.

"It doesn't matter, Bruce. Lay off."

Batman hit one more key to finalize the program. "Well, I'm right."

"Yes, you never can stand losing an argument, can you? Even over something as inconsequential as twenty seconds," Clark turned his monitor so Bruce couldn't see the screen.

"I'm just trying to optimize our time."

"No, Bruce, you're just being a jerk."

"Excuse me?" Batman rose from his chair to check some readouts across the room. Clark's report was printing out right beneath the screen Bruce was using.

"You heard me," Clark said, almost to the point of yelling, and pointed at the printer. "Think you can move?"

"No," Came Bruce's flat reply. "You can waste another twenty seconds while I finish this."

"Move, Bruce. You can read that from two feet to the left. " Clark tapped his foot, unsubtly.

"I don't see what you're getting worked up over," Bruce snapped, and put one foot on either side of the printer so Clark couldn't get to it.

"I'm getting _worked up_ over you acting like you're so much smarter than everyone else! Always brooding in that stupid cave, without even the decency to be civil to the few people who will put up with you and your Texas-sized ego," Clark sharply nudged Bruce out of the way and grabbed his papers.

"And by the way," Clark said, "The Batmobile is a really idiotic name for a car."

"I'd say being intelligent is better than acting like God's gift to the universe all the time," Bruce shrugged. "And at least I didn't have a pet named Beppo-the-freakin'-Supermonkey."

"That was a long time ago," Clark strode back to his monitor, but didn't sit down.

"And it was an orangutan, not a monkey," Batman said, raising his voice as well. "You should really get your species right."

Clark sighed, and turned back to him, hands clenched. "There you go again, being a self-important bastard. Could you please just treat the rest of us like we're intelligent human beings, too? Or is that too hard?"

Batman looked at him, unblinking. "Actually, you're not human."

Clark smacked him across the face before he could react. Not hard, but enough to make his head snap to the side. Bruce found that all he could do afterwards was stare, unbelieving, at Clark.

There was silence for a long time.

"Get out," Clark finally said.

"What?"

"As you pointed out, I'm not human. I can do this by myself," Clark turned away from him. "Just go away."

Bruce walked out. Apparently the yelling had brought a crowd. There were at least twelve Leaguers standing outside the monitor room, including Diana. She tried to grab his arm, to ask what was going on.

He pushed past her and went to his room, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

Batman pulled out his laptop and started working on the Gotham patrol reports from the last week, trying to ignore the fact that he was still smarting from that blow.

* * *

Just their luck—there was a Founder's meeting the next morning.

Bruce and Clark took seats at opposite ends of the table, as far apart as they could possibly sit. The others watched them, nervously, but neither said anything to the other.

"May I see the turbulence report for the next few days, Diana?" Clark asked in a tone that was utterly, coldly polite.

"Bruce has it," Diana said. "You know that."

"May I see the report _Batman_?" Clark said in a voice that was utterly ice.

"Why yes Clark," Bruce's tone brought the room to subzero temperatures. "After all, I'm only an bipolar maniac, not some sort of jerk or something."

"Well, I would never presume that," Clark said, "Besides, everyone knows I'm an egotistical idiot."

"What an honest look at yourself," Bruce said, and threw the report at Clark, who caught it and retorted:

"Same to yourself, but I think you overlooked the _jerk_ part."

Batman snarled. Clark glared.

Diana grabbed them both by the collar and hauled them out of their seats.

"I don't care what kind of testosterone-fueled, alpha-male battle you two are having," she snapped. "But shut the hell up before I knock your thick heads together!"

With that, she dropped them unceremoniously into their chairs.

Both stayed dead silent for the rest of the meeting, and left through separate doors.

* * *

The League quickly got used to the fact that there was an invisible line drawn down the center of the Watchtower, with Superman's down one hall and Batman's down the opposite.

Clark and Bruce hadn't talked for a week. They hadn't even looked at each other.

The Friday after the two had stopped speaking, Diana sat down for lunch with Wally and John.

"I still may knock their heads together," she said. "Just to see if they gain any sense."

"I'm all for it," Wally said, through a forkful of spaghetti. "Have you tried having a conversation with one of them? If you even mention the other they'll bite your head off! I thought Bat's was going to kill me when I told him Supes had taken the last spare tricorder."

"I know," John sighed, "Superman just stormed off when I told him Batman was using the hologram chamber."

"We have to do something," Diana said, "And soon, before we all go crazy."

* * *

The plan was to make Batman and Superman partners on the upcoming training exercise.

"Both of them are perfectionists," Diana said, as she, Shayera, and J'onn were programming the hologram chamber. "So they'd rather work together than completely fail."

The training exercises began at seven in the morning, at Wally had made sure that Clark and Bruce were the first pair of the day.

"Oh. It's _you_." Clark said when Bruce came down the hallway. "I guess that blows any chance of this being over by eight."

"I'm sorry if I slow you down by actually getting things _right_." Bruce snapped.

John leaned over and whispered to Diana, "Are you _positive _that this will work?"

She didn't look so sure anymore.

It started out fairly well, with the two of them completing the rescue-a-child-from-a-fire and stop-a-speeding-car challenges with only a minimal amount of bickering and insults. Then came the obstacle course.

"This way," Bruce said, "Pointing to an alley lined with swinging axes and a rope bridge.

"No, over here," Clark pointed to a second lane with a rock wall over a pit of fire.

"Would you just shut up and follow me?"

"Would _you_ just let me do this for once?"

"You don't know what you're doing!"

"Yes, I do!" Clark took off down one street, Bruce down the other. They were separate by a wooden barrier.

"You're going the wrong way," Bruce said from over the wall. "You never actually think, do you?"

"At least I'm more capable that a stuck-up rich kid with a belt full of silly toys," Clark snapped.

Bruce was quiet for a moment and then he said, "Well I'm not some alien who couldn't be normal even if he tried and is always acting like a bumbling idiot to make himself likable."

They stopped talking after that.

* * *

"That didn't work," Flash said. They were sitting in the hologram room after everyone had gone through.

"No, it certainly did not," John said. He sighed and checked his clipboard. "It took Bruce two hours and Clark two hours fifteen minutes. Everyone else finished in half an hour."

Suddenly, above them, the intercom crackled to life.

"Batman and Superman report to the teleporter room," said the mechanical mission voice. "Repeat: Batman and Superman to the teleporter room."

"What!" Diana leapt to her feet. "Who put them together on a mission?"

"Mr. Terrific, probably," John said, standing up. "He's been at the JSA for the past week. Come on, let's get down there."

When they got to the teleporter room, they found utter chaos. Apparently, the teleporter had started smoking after Mr. Terrific had beamed down Batman and Superman.

"This is what you getting for using highly experimental technology," he muttered as a janitor doused the flames. "Sometimes it hardly seems worth the trouble."

"Sorry," he said, turning to the three others. "But I can't bring them back. You could take a Javelin, but with the travel time it's pretty pointless. Anyhow, they only have to deal with Metallo."

* * *

It wasn't only Metallo.

Instead, it was Toyman, the Ultra-Humanite, _and_ Metallo.

"You take Metallo, I'll take Toyman and the Humanite," Clark said.

"Don't think I can handle two?"

"Just _do _it, Bruce."

It went fairly well, in the beginning. The villains were up in an old skyscraper that was scheduled for demolition. Batman and Superman managed to free the six hostages early on, and then concentrated on taking down the villains.

That was when it started to go wrong. Bruce was in the stairwell, fighting Metallo, when the cyborg suddenly jumped into the room where Clark and the other to villains were, changing places with the Humanite.

Metallo pressed something on his chest. There was a flash of light, and then Clark was on the ground, covered in a yellow fog. Metallo laughed, and he, Humanite, and Toyman jumped out the window into a cloaked airplane.

"It was a set-up," Bruce growled as he ran over to check on Clark.

Superman stood, but he was swaying on his feet. Bruce took a closer look at the dust on him at saw that it was vaporized Kryptonite—yellow and a little green. There was just enough green to weaken him, and the yellow would be absorbed through his skin and make him basically human.

"Don't worry about me—get them," Clark said.

Bruce turned and threw a batarang out the window. He aimed perfectly—the weapon stuck in the plane's turbine and it crashed right in front of a police cruiser. Toyman and Metallo were locked into cuffs the moment they stuck their heads out.

Oddly, they didn't look too upset.

Humanite came out with something in his hand, and looked up to the tenth floor, where the two heroes were.

"Sorry, about this, chumps," he called, and pressed a button.

Bruce and Clark looked up just in time to see the building coming down on their heads.

* * *

When Clark woke up, his first thought was that this was the first time he'd blacked out in a long time.  
The second was that there was someone struggling nearby.

"Bruce?" he asked into the darkness.

"I'm here." It sounded like he was trapped.

"You okay?" Clark asked.

"I'm not hurt," Bruce said, "But my legs and an arm are trapped under some beams and I think my belt came off in the explosion. What about you?"

"I'm fine," Clark started to say, but then he turned and cried out as a searing pain shot through his body.

"What!"

He took a deep breath and carefully turned without pulling on his right arm. "I think my shoulder's broken."

Bruce reached over with his free arm and pushed away some of the debris between them. "Try to move so you're not laying on it."

Clark nodded, and shifted. When he put down his good hand he felt something wet on the floor. "What's that?"

Bruce moved his head and felt it too. His eyes widened slightly. "We must have fallen into the basement. That's water, filling the room from a broken main."

"We need to get out of here."

"Yes," Bruce said, and tried to tug himself free again. "Preferably before drowning." As much as he pulled, the beams were wedged too tightly.

Clark kicked off the boards laying over him and knocked his head on the short ceiling. There was barely enough space for him to sit up, but at least his eyes were adjusting to the dark. "I think I see your belt."

"Get it," Bruce said. He was trapped lying on his back, and the water had now reached his ears. "I've got some things we can use to get free."

Clark nodded a maneuvered himself towards the yellow band he saw caught between two boards. The water was still rising.

"Which pocket?" he asked, once he'd gotten the belt free.

"Second on the left," Bruce pointed "Press twice on the buckle—that disables the security."

Clark did as he was told and pulled out a handful of small capsules.

"Explosives," Bruce explained, sputtering as water filled his mouth. "Put one on each of these beams and press the little red button."

He held his breath as his head went underwater.

The tiny explosions vaporized the beams. Bruce sat up, gasping for air. He'd been under for three and a half minutes.

"Give me some of those," he said, coughing still. Clark complied, and Bruce put an explosive in the ceiling above them. They both ducked as plaster dust rained down.

"Come on," Bruce said, as he climbed up towards fresh air.

Clark's head was swimming from the Kryptonite. He reached up but somehow couldn't find a handhold.

Bruce jumped down again and put his arms around Superman, being careful not to jostle his broken shoulder. Then he pulled Clark up into the tunnel.

Together they found their way out from under the pile of bricks and mortar.

Hundreds of miles above, Mr. Terrific got the transporter working, and beamed the two up.

* * *

Two hours later, Bruce found Clark sitting cross-legged in the small sky room at the top of the Watchtower. It was made entirely of glass and was the only room that was always in the sun. Clark had his eyes closed and was taking in the rays. His arm was in a sling, but Bruce could see with a glance that the bone was nearly healed.

"Hi," he said, sitting down as well.

Clark opened his eyes. "Hi."

They looked away from each other for a second.

"How's the shoulder?" Bruce asked.

"Better."

"That's good."

There was another awkward pause.

"You don't really think that of me, do you?" Clark asked, suddenly. " That I'm…"

"No," Bruce shook his head. Then, softly, he said, "I'm sorry, Clark."

"Me too," Clark looked into the sun. "I didn't mean those things I said about you, either."

"I know."

Bruce stuck out his hand. "Friends?"

Instead of shaking it, Clark pulled him into a quick hug. Bruce pulled away, but not until a few seconds had passed.

"No need to get sentimental, Kent," he said.

Clark chuckled, then looked out to the sun again, and checked his watch. "Want to spend…oh, thirty-five more minutes here?"

"Why?"

"That's about how long it will take for my shoulder to heal up," Clark said, "C'mon, you're probably vitamin-D deficient from not getting enough sun."

"I've got stuff to do…"

"You could tell me how to do those nuclear conversion formulas," Clark teased. "You know, 'optimize Leaguer time'?"

Bruce sighed. "Fine."

They sat together and watched the sunlight illuminate the Northern Hemisphere.


	13. TakeOut

**A/N: A quick question for my readers: What three fics in this series have you liked best so far? I'm tossing around a couple of ideas foir the next chapter and trying to decide which to write (they're similar to a couple of fics). **

**P.S. I figured it was time that I tortured someone other than Bruce, so…**

~Take-Out~

Diana called up Bruce when he was in orbit, about to dock the Javelin.

"Clark is sick," she said.

"I thought Kryptonians were immune to pretty much everything," Bruce maneuvered the Javelin into the landing bay and closed the airlock doors behind him.

"Apparently it's a mutated strain," Diana paused. "Maybe you should go over and see if he needs anything."

Bruce walked into the main hallway of the Watchtower. "No thanks. I can't afford to get something that makes _Superman _ill."

"He helped you out when you got sick."

"I was poisoned."

"You were infected with a bioengineered virus! It's the same thing as being sick!" Diana took a deep breath. "Listen: If I didn't have to be at this Harvest Week ceremony in Themyscria, I would go. But as it is, I'm here for seven days."

She continued, "If I get back and find out that you didn't go over there, I will make you pay. Got it?"

Bruce sighed. "Yes, Princess."

* * *

Clark woke up to the sound of a pot clattering to the floor. He turned over under the blanket and tried to go back to sleep. His eyes shot open when he realized what the noise meant: there was someone in his apartment.

A figure was standing in the kitchen, fiddling with the stove. Clark reached for something to throw. The figure turned.

"Oh, you're awake," Bruce said. He was gazing intently at a small box. "Say, how do you make chicken soup from one of these pouch things."

"You have to add water and sautéed chicken, then cook it," Clark stared at him. "How did you get in here?"

Bruce shrugged and opened the refrigerator. "I picked the lock. Do you have chicken?"

Clark reached for a tissue, blew his nose, and threw the dirty tissue on top of the overflowing wastebasket. "Why are you trying to cook?"

"Chicken soup is good for a cold, supposedly," Bruce glared at him. "So I'm making you some."

"Please don't," Clark said. He was suddenly very tired, and pulled the blanket around himself. "I really do not want you to burn down my apartment building."

Bruce scoffed, but turned off the stove. "You don't have any chicken anyway." He peered over at Clark. "Why aren't you in bed?"

Clark coughed and said, "I'm tired. I don't want to have to wash all the sheets after I'm over this."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "When you are over this, you'll have enough energy to wash a load of laundry. And anyhow, don't you own more than one set of sheets?"

Clark shrugged and burrowed deeper under the cover. Bruce walked over to him. "Get up."

"What?"

"You heard me, get up and go to bed. Your sofa is not comfortable enough to be sleeping on."

Clark shook his head. "It's warm here."

"Fine," Bruce reached over and yanked off the covers. The cold air hit Clark and he started shivering.

"That was just cruel," he curled up to stay warmer.

"Look, I promised Diana I would take care of you, so you're going to bed if I have to carry you," Bruce pulled away the box of tissues, too.

"You can't—" Clark started to say. Bruce picked him up.

Clark flailed and Bruce set him on his feet. Accepting defeat, Clark started towards the bedroom. "Suddenly I see why you hate being carried."

Bruce nodded, and took pity on him by dropping the blanket around his shoulders. "Go, Clark. I'll wash dishes or something. I can't burn anything down with dishwater, now can I?"

Clark hardly heard him. He crawled into bed and pulled the covers up over his head. Bruce was right. It was more comfortable.

* * *

Later (Clark wasn't sure how much later, but at least an hour since he woke up with his nose running down his face) Bruce came in, handed him a tissue, and set something on the nightstand.

"What's that? " Clark asked.

"Hot tea," Bruce put some honey in the tea, stirred it, and gave it to Clark. "Drink it, it will help with the cough."

"Thanks," Clark said, in between sips. It felt good on his sore throat. Then he noticed something outside the bedroom door.

"Bruce?" he asked. "Why is the mop out?"

Bruce looked slightly uncomfortable. "Don't worry—I'll clean it up."

Clark put the tea down and rubbed his temples to try to ease a sudden headache. "What did you do?"

"I told you, I'll take care of it," Bruce walked out, and Clark forced himself out of bed to follow.

There were bubbles all over the kitchen floor, and a puddle of water by the dishwasher. From the looks of it, Bruce had cleaned about half up.

Clark blinked. "Did you put dish soap in the dishwasher?"

Bruce grabbed the mop and swished it across the floor. The mop was so wet that all he was really doing was moving the water around. "It made sense, okay! I just wash dishes in the sink."

Clark grabbed the mop from him and held it over the sink, pulling the handle to squeeze it out. "There," he said, and handed it back to Bruce.

"Oh," said Bruce. "So that's what the handle is for."

Clark muttered something about aspirin and went back to the bedroom. Bruce finished cleaning up the kitchen and poked his head into the bedroom.

"Want anymore tea?" he asked, before he saw that Clark was fast asleep on top of the covers, shivering.

Bruce tiptoed over and gently removed Clark's slippers, then pulled the blankets over him. Clark mumbled something in his sleep and curled deeper under the covers. Bruce turned off the lights and left the room.

* * *

Clark opened his eyes. He didn't know what time it was, but the double dose of cold medication he'd taken had definitely worn off. He sat up, coughed and blew his nose twice. The door opened.

"You're still here?" Clark tried his best to sound glad, but couldn't quite force it.

"Yep," Bruce was carrying something on a tray. He set it on the edge of the bed and glanced at Clark. "You look like hell."

"Thanks," Clark said through a sore throat. He coughed again. Bruce handed him a bowl and spoon. "What's this?"

"Chicken noodle soup," Bruce gave him another cup of tea, as well.

Clark looked at the soup, suspiciously. It looked good, except for the noodles were more like ones for chow mein. "Did you make this?"

Bruce shook his head. "It's take-out. I wouldn't want to risk starting a fire."

Clark laughed and took a bite. His eyes widened. He swallowed quickly and gulped down the entire cup of tea. "Bruce—its spicy!"

Bruce handed him a tissue; his nose was running. "It's Vietnamese chicken pho. Of course it's spicy."

"You said it was chicken noodle soup!"

"It has noodles, chicken, carrots, and green stuff. It's the same thing," Bruce said. "And it'll clear out your sinuses."

"That's for sure," Clark set the soup down and blew his nose. "You're really bad at this, you know."

Bruce shrugged. "But I've made you want to get better really quick, haven't I."

Clark laughed. "Yeah, you've been really sweet in your own bumbling, misanthropic way."

That earned a small smile from Bruce. "You should get some more sleep. And finish the soup, it really is good for you. "

Clark looked at the bowl and said, "Sure."

"I have patrol," Bruce said. "Remember, you've got monitor duty the day after tomorrow—I'm not taking your shift out of pity."

"Got it," Clark said, as Bruce let himself out. There was extra tea on the stove, and Clark poured himself another cup. Bruce _did _make good tea.

* * *

"Glad to see that you're better," Diana said, when they saw each other on Tuesday.

Clark smiled. "Yep, all healthy."

"That's good."

They talked for awhile about other things—missions, or how Diana's trip had been. Then, Clark changed the subject back.

"One thing, Diana," he said.

"What?"

"Please don't ever send Bruce to take care of me again."


	14. Watch

~Watch~

"I told you so," Flash said, leaning in.

"They're eating lunch together," Nightwing was unimpressed. "You have to have more than that."

The two sat back and watched Batman and Wonder Woman. They were sitting across from each other, eating in nearly complete silence. Or, to be more exact, Diana was eating. Batman had a glass of water and was going over the reports.

"See?" Flash said.

"No, I don't," Nightwing sighed. "Look, Wally, face it. Batman is not in a relationship with Wonder Woman."

Flash's eyes sparkled. "We could do a stakeout."

Nightwing considered it, and smiled, broadly.

The cameras were all set up. So were the audio recorders, still-image capturing devices and even heat sensors. Then Wally and Dick sat back to wait.

It took five hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-two seconds. But finally, Diana entered Batman's room.

"See!" Wally exclaimed, jumping out of his seat.

"You haven't proven anything yet," Nightwing's eyes stayed glued to the monitor. Then, suddenly, he breathed in sharply.

Flash looked over his shoulder. On the screen, Diana was pulling off Batman's mask. He, of course, was still glued to whatever project he was working on. Diana let the cowl drop.

"Stop that," Batman said. His voice was tinny over the speakers.

"Make me," Diana said. She hooked her arms around him from behind, forcing him to stop typing.

Bruce turned and glared at her. "That's extremely annoying."

She kissed him.

Nightwing was visibly pale. Flash just smiled. "Was I right or was I right?"

"Shut up," Nightwing muttered and turned the screen so there wasn't such a bad glare. They were holed up in a supply closet off an annex, and everything smelled of bleach.

Bruce pushed Diana away, but she kissed him again and sat down on the desk.

"Mmm…things are getting spicy down there."

"Shut _up_, Wally," Nightwing watched Batman pull Diana a little closer. At least the camera was angled so he didn't have to see what their mouths were doing. Now _that_ probably would have made him puke.

"Ooh, what's happening now?" Flash leaned over, just as Diana went in for another, extremely long, kiss.

"Oh. My. God," Dick said. "This is so wrong. Bruce does _not_ get into serious relationships. Especially with an Amazon who goes around in a bathing suit."

"A very low cut bathing suit," Flash said.

"His last 'girlfriend' wore head-to-toe leather! And now this?"

Both of them started laughing. On the monitor screen, Batman looked up, as if something had caught his eye. Then he stood up, walked to the camera, and the feed suddenly went black.

"Shit," Nightwing whispered.

They pulled up all of their equipment. Flash ran it to his dorm room, hid it as well as he could, and was back in the blink of an eye. Nightwing practically flew out of the supply closet, slamming the door behind him.

"Act natural," he whispered, then grabbed Flash's arm and jerked him down the hallway. Then he made his voice jump a pitch higher and inserted artificial joviality. But Flash could still hear the nervousness. "So, Wally, how was your weekend?"

Wally tried to stammer something about seeing a movie, but he didn't get the chance. A black-gloved hand closed around his shoulder.

"_Nice try_," said a deep, dark voice. Batman turned to Flash and hissed. "Run. Very fast."

Wally did as he was told.

Dick gulped. "Look, Bruce, it was just a joke, right? It's not like I kept a record of it. We didn't see much…please don't kill me?"

Batman smiled his very scary smile. "Sure, Richard."

He took a step away from Nightwing and said, "Just remember that I have videos, pictures, and recordings of you from age eight onward, _and_ your girlfriend's email address."

Dick turned absolutely, completely pale. "I'm sorry! I promise not to do that again!"

Batman just smiled again and walked away. "I'll take that into consideration."


	15. Pictures

~Pictures~

Superman and Batman were eating lunch while on monitor duty. A twenty-seven hour mission on Mercury could make you hungry, after all.

Diana walked in, saw Bruce's ham sandwich, and grimaced slightly.

"What?" he asked, and took another bite.

"I can't stand eating ham," she said, "Not after Circe made me a pig, anyway."

Bruce looked down at his sandwich. "Yum."

"That could have been me," Diana sat down next to Clark.

"Actually, reports from people forced into cannibalism suggest that humans do taste a lot like pork," Bruce ate another quarter of his sandwich.

"That's disgusting," Clark said.

Bruce shrugged, and polished off his food. "Red food coloring is made from crushed beetles, and the casing on a hot dog is intestine."

Clark set his sandwich down on the table and pushed it away. "Well, I certainly don't feel like eating anymore."

"Mind if I have it then?" Without waiting for an answer, Batman took Superman's half sandwich.

"Do you have to be so ornery all the time?" Diana asked.

"Yep," Bruce looked up at her. "You know, a lot of women's sudden shifts in anger are due to hormone imbalances."

Diana almost hit him. Clark stood up and said. "That's enough. Bruce, did you bring that report you were supposed to give me?"

"Nope."

"Well, why not?" Now it was Clark's turn to get angry. "Are you deliberately trying to make us mad at you?"

"No, I just have more important things to do," Batman stood up, getting ready to leave. "You'll have your reports by midnight or a little later."

"Midnight! Bruce, we don't all keep your hours."

"Not my problem," Batman swept out of the room.

"That man," Diana muttered, then she too left. Clark was the last to go.

True to his word, Batman arrived on the balcony of Clark's apartment at 11:47. He peered in through the windows, but no one was inside.

"Apparently you do keep my hours," he muttered, before picking the lock on the sliding glass door and silently slipping inside.

He meant to just leave the papers on Clark's coffee table, but instead he walked into the kitchen and turned to today's page in the calendar. There was just one entry—"Lois-10 PM." So that's where Clark was; out on a date with his girlfriend.

Bruce wandered into the living room and over to the bookshelf. The whole top shelf was filled with photo albums. He pulled down the first one. There was a picture of a barn on the front.

_Figures_, Bruce thought. Nevertheless, he started flipping through.

The earliest picture was one of Ma and Pa Kent on their wedding day. Batman found it nearly impossible to imagine Ma as anything other than the older woman she was now. But there she was in full wedding regalia, looking younger than even Diana.

He turned the page, and found a few pictures of the Kents' early years. Then there was Clark as a baby, staring wide-eyed at a clown rattle being held above him head. Next was Clark sitting on top of a bale of hay. Pa had a protective arm around his son.

Bruce finished looking through the first album, and carefully put it back on the shelf. Then he took down the second. This began with Clark's entrance into high school and ended with his graduation. Bruce flipped through four years of debate club, honors classes, and the yr when Clark's 4-H club put on the country fair.

"Seriously, what the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

Bruce jumped and turned around, hiding the book behind his back. Clark was standing in the doorway.

"I didn't know you owned another of those red ties," Bruce said. "I should've burned that one too."

"Don't change the subject," Clark snapped, but he still took off the tie and tossed it into the bedroom. Then, he turned back to Bruce. "You can't just go breaking into my house."

"I came to drop off the report you wanted," Bruce nodded towards where the papers were lying on the coffee table. "I was just leaving."

Clark came up behind him and took the photo album out of his hands. He gave Bruce a stern look and put it back on the shelf, precisely where it belonged.

"I…" Bruce began, then faltered. "Did you know your mom has a picture of you milking your first cow?"

"I grew up on a farm, Bruce. It was a big deal," Clark crossed his arms over his chest. He did not look amused. Bruce edged towards the balcony.

"Oh, no you don't," Clark was suddenly standing in front of the sliding glass door. "You can't duck out every time someone tries to have a conversation with you."

Bruce stayed silent.

"This is like the third time you've broken into my apartment. Did it ever occur to you that I might enjoy a little privacy?" Clark asked. He snatched the reports up from the coffee table and put them in his jacket pocket. "As in not having a friend who has zero concept of personal property and treats everything like it's his?"

"Honestly," Clark continued. "Do you treat _Alfred_ like you do the rest of us? Sometimes I don't know how he can stand you for so long."

Bruce looked away.

Clark took a deep breath. "Bruce—what's wrong?"

Batman shook his head.

"C'mon," Clark put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be," Bruce said. Then, quickly and quietly, "He kicked me out."

Clark was taken aback. "_Alfred?_ He kicked you out of the _Manor_?"

Bruce shrugged. "Every once in awhile he gets sick of having a sort-of son who is 'uncourteous, moody and generally a jerk'."

"He said that?"

"I probably deserved it," Bruce shrugged again. "I'll go back in a day or two and it'll be all right."

"What do the boys say?" Clark asked. He and Bruce walked into the kitchen.

"Dick's been staying either at Barbra's or Bludhaven lately," Bruce leaned against the kitchen counter. "And Tim agrees with Alfred."

Softly, he added, "They're probably right."

Clark took a pot out of the cabinet and set it on the stove. "About what?"

"I am a jerk."

"Only sometimes."

"Thanks, Kal."

Clark smiled and poured something from the fridge into the pan. "You could try apologizing, you know."

"I'm sorry for breaking into your house."

"I meant apologize to Alfred, but thank you anyway," Clark added a cup of sugar and hit the pot with a burst of heat vision. The mixture started to bubble.

"And I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

"You might want to say that to Diana. She's still considering ripping your head off. "

Bruce smiled thinly, and looked back towards the living room. "Mom never kept albums, not like yours does. She just wasn't the type. All the pictures are up in the attic, stacked in shoeboxes."

"I thought Alfred would have done some," Clark took a few things out of the spice cabinet and added them to the pot.

"Guess he isn't the type either," Bruce looked up and saw another line of family photos hung up above the table. "Smallville sounds like the perfect place. Everyone knows each other, you have country fairs, and your mother somehow finds the time to bake apple pie _and_ do family albums."

"You could visit more often. Ma adores you," Clark took the pan off the stove and got out two cups. "But I think you'd get sick of always stepping in cow manure."

He handed Bruce a mug.

"What's this?" Bruce asked. It smelled delicious.

"Hot chocolate," Clark said, and took a glass for himself. "It fixes everything."

Bruce waited until Clark had taken a sip before trying some himself. It was as good as it smelled.

"How is it?" Clark asked

Bruce drank some more before answering. "Very good."

Clark stood next to him and finished off his mug. "Feeling better?" Bruce nodded. "So what are you going to do after you leave?"

Bruce sighed. "Apologize to Alfred."

"And?"

"And Diana."

"Right," Clark said. Then he brought the pot of chocolate over and refilled both their cups.


	16. Hurt

**A/N: In case you can't tell, I love the character of Ma Kent. One of these days I'm going to write an Alfred/Ma fic. (Cue evil laughter.) And yes, I know I'm on something of a Batman-Superman streak, but I promise the next one is heavy (and humorous) BMWW.**

~Hurt~

Martha Kent was in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea. It was late at night, almost two-thirty in the morning, and she had woken up unexpectedly. She put the kettle on the stove and suddenly heard the back door open. Ma froze.

"Stop that," it was Clark, whispering.

"Let me go," the second voice was dark and familiar. Ma tried to remember who it belonged to. "I have a plane. I don't need help getting stitched up."

"It's _broken_, Bruce," Clark said. "Ma used to be a nurse; just let her have a look at you. Gotham's a long way from Kansas, even with your plane."

"Why couldn't Wally deal with Kansas City?" Bruce muttered. Ma added more water to the kettle while she listened in on their conversation. "And I don't like to be mothered."

"I hate to break it to you, but that's what mothers tend to do," Clark said.

"Well I'm fine," Bruce said. Ma heard a brief scuffle and then a sharp, "Ow! Clark!"

Clark said quietly, "It wouldn't hurt so much if you stopped flailing."

"Why are you whispering if you're just going to wake your mom up?" Bruce asked. The back door shut softly. Clark sighed.

Ma walked into the hall. "I'm already up, boys."

Both of them were flecked with dirt and blood, with ripped-up costumes. Bruce was leaning on Clark slightly, and even though he tried to hide it, he was obviously trying not to put much weight on his left foot. When he saw Ma, he took his hand off Clark's arm and stood straight. But he couldn't disguise the blood running down his face.

"What happened to the two of you?" she asked, leading them into the family room.

"Renegade android from the Kansas City branch of S.T.A.R. Labs," Batman said.

"He's hurt," Clark said.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Kent."

"Nonsense," Ma pushed him towards a chair. "Your nose is bleeding, for one thing. And how many times have I told you to call me Ma?"

Bruce stood stubbornly in front of the chair, refusing to sit.

"Young man, either you sit down this instant or I will call that butler of yours and have a nice long chat with him about you respecting your elders."

"I—,"Bruce started. He didn't know how he always managed to get flustered at the Kent household.

"Now you pick a seat and stay there," Ma said. She went into the kitchen and got her old nurse's kit out from under the sink, where she'd kept it for emergencies. When she came back, Bruce was perched on the edge of the wooden chair Ma's aunt had left them. He had deliberately chosen the most uncomfortable seat in the house, and she knew it.

Ma pointed at the sofa. "Take off that dirty cape and lie down."

"Mrs. Kent—Ma—really, this is unnecessary. I'm perfectly fine," Bruce didn't move towards the sofa and didn't take off the cape.

Martha grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him up from the chair. "Clark," she said. "What's the number-one rule in this house?"

Clark hesitated. "Don't lie to Ma?"

"That's right," Ma gave Bruce a hard look. "I know you're not fine; you've got a bloody nose at the very least. Now come on, what hurts?"

Bruce stayed stubbornly silent, although the effect wasn't nearly as dark when he was standing in the middle of a farmhouse. Ma turned to Clark. "Well? I presume you can x-ray him."

Clark looked from Ma to Bruce and back, before deciding that he was more afraid of his mother. He blinked and his eyes shifted slightly to x-ray vision.

"His left ankle is sprained," Clark said. He glanced up at Bruce a little fearfully. "His right arm is broken, but not badly, and two of his ribs are cracked—although there's not much you can do for that. And he hit his head pretty hard but I can't see through that mask."

"Take it off," Ma said. Bruce gave up trying to argue and did as he was told.

"Mild concussion," Clark said. Bruce's face was smudged with dirt, and he had what would probably be a black eye in the morning. Ma could see where his hair was sticky with blood.

"Clark, go get a damp washcloth," Ma said. Then she pointed Bruce to the sofa. "You can do this the easy way or hard way, but you're going to lie down."

Bruce shook his head. Ma grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to sit down on the sofa. IT was a start, at least.

"How do you take off that belt and armor?" she asked. "It can be comfortable."

Bruce touched a hidden switch by his side and the belt undid itself. He refused to take off the armor, but Ma saw the zipper cleverly hidden in the stitching (she'd sewn enough shirts for her husband) and jerk it up just quick enough to send a stab of pain through his ribs.

Bruce winced and saw that she wasn't kidding. Silently he took off the armor, so he was left sitting on the sofa in a t-shirt and costume pants.

Clark came back with the washcloth and handed it to Bruce.

"Wash off that blood," Ma said. "And take off those boots, they shouldn't be on in the house."

Slowly, Bruce rubbed off the dried redness on his face. Ma watched to make sure his nose had stopped bleeding, and it had for the most part. He set the dirty washcloth down on the side table and worked his boots off with his good hand.

Ma took the shoes and tossed them into the mudroom, then examined Bruce's ankle. It was swollen, and even through the thin sock she could tell there would be a bruise.

Martha took a roll of bandages out of her kit.

"Stop," Bruce said. "I can do it."

"With one hand? I doubt that."

Bruce gave her a level stare, reached out with his broken wrist, and took the bandages from her. Ma blinked.

"All right," she said, relenting. In the kitchen, the kettle whistled. She sent Clark out to take it off the burner. "But at least have a cup of tea and an aspirin before you go hurting yourself some more."

Martha got up and went to the kitchen, where Clark was already pouring hot water into three mugs. Ma added tea bags and let them steep while she rummaged in the cupboard for something.

"What are you getting, Ma?" Clark asked.

"Honey," Ma said, just as her hand brushed the right jar. She rummaged around some more and found a bottle of aspirin. After looking at the label she took down a second bottle as well. "The newspaper is on the table—you should look at it. There's an article about your old school friend, Pete."

"Oh, really?" Clark opened up the paper. "Is _he_ giving you much trouble."

Martha smiled. "That man is nearly as stubborn as your father, but don't worry, he'll stop before long."

"You don't know Batman," Clark said. But Ma just kept smiling, mixed some honey into Bruce's tea, and went back to the living room.

"Here you go," she said. Bruce took the aspirin with his left hand, put it in his mouth, and then accepted the tea. He drank it slowly, but still finished the mug in a couple minutes.

"Want some more?" Ma asked. She got him another cup before he could say no.

Bruce took the mug and drank half to appease her. Then he set it on the table, picked up the roll of bandages and started wrapping them around his ankle.

Halfway through his hand slipped and the bandages tumbled to the floor, bouncing across the carpet. Martha picked it up and deftly rewound it. "Let me."

Bruce started to protest, but Ma put the mug of tea back in his hand. Grudgingly, he drank most of what was left, and rubbed his eyes with his good hand. Martha wrapped the bandages around his ankle, gently put a brace over it, and quickly splinted his arm.

"Clark, get a bag of ice," she said, poking her head into the kitchen. Her son did as he was told and handed the ice to her.

Martha went back to the living room for a minute, then returned. "and Clark?"

"Yes, Ma?"

Ma smiled. "Carry your friend upstairs when you're done with your tea."

Clark just looked at her. "I doubt he'll let me. He hates to be carried."

"I don't think he'll put up much of a bother," Ma disappeared back into the living room. "You can put him in Kara's room—she's away on a class trip."

Clark walked to the doorway and peered in. Bruce was dead asleep on the couch, looking more peaceful than Clark had seen him in awhile. "Ma…what did you do?"

Ma put the bag of ice gently over Bruce's broken ribs. He didn't stir, and Ma smiled at the boy asleep on her sofa. "I put a good-sized dose of Benadryl in his tea. I doubt he could taste it, between the honey and that bloody nose."

Clark's jaw dropped. "You drugged _Batman_?"

"Nonsense," Ma said. "The boy needed rest. Now get him upstairs, Clark."

Clark carefully picked Bruce up, trying not to jostle his arm or leg, but Bruce didn't even stir. Clark floated up the stairs and laid Bruce down on Kara's bed, then he pulled the covers over him.

"Doesn't he look sweet?" Ma asked, from the door.

"He's going to kill me," Clark said. But even as he said that, he couldn't help but smile at what Bruce's reaction would be to waking up in a pink room next to a three-foot teddy bear.


	17. Cold

~Cold~

"Hi, Bruce," Diana said, taking the seat next to Batman. "Mind if I eat with you?"

He barely acknowledged her presence, instead focusing on the small mountain of report, schematics, and diagrams in front of him. His tray of food sat untouched by his left elbow. Not that he was really acting hungry—Diana noticed that he'd simply taken the first thing on the drink, side dish, and entrée counters.

"What are you doing later?" she asked.

"Patrol."

"I was thinking I might get dinner and see a movie."

"That's nice," Batman turned to the sheet in a ten-page report on the function of the Watchtower's solar panels.

Diana accidentally crushed her spork. "So, no chance of you taking a night off, huh?"

"What would I need to take a night off for?"

She just sighed, and went to sit with Black Canary, Vixen, and Shayera.

"You're trying too hard," Black Canary said. "And Batman's not the type of guy to respond to gentle nudges."

"Well, I feel like I've been 'nudging' him with a cattle prod," Diana said, and took a bite of her cold manicotti.

"It's all about Catwoman," Vixen said.

"You think he's seeing her and that's why he won't go out with me?"

"No," Vixen smiled. "There's one thing she did that you aren't—she let him chase her."

"Play hard to get," Shayera said. "Get a date with a different guy. Even if Batman doesn't respond at least you'll have a little fun."

Clark finished reading off the reports that the Founders had to approve. "Well, I guess that's everything."

He sat back in his chair. "I don't know about all of you, but I'm ready for the weekend."

"I can't wait," Diana tucked long piece of hair behind her ear. Slowly, like Dinah had taught her. "I've got a date with a man I met on the subway."

"Really?" Clark said.

"Yep, secret identity and everything," Diana smiled when Batman looked up. "He's pretty cute—I've always found _blonds_ attractive."

Batman sat up a little straighter.

Diana pretended to look at her watch. "Well, I'd better get going if I want to be there in time."

She got up and left without looking at Bruce, but she could feel his eyes on her back the entire time.

Wally, GL, and John left the room. Clark stood, and Batman followed him. "She has a date?" Bruce said. "That's certainly unusual."

"Diana is a human female, Bruce," Clark stacked the reports neatly and set them in a folder.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning she likes attention, and it's not like she was going to wait for _you_ forever."

Bruce straightened the papers. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Give me a break. I'm not blind, and neither are the other three-hundred-plus members of the Justice League. We all know what's going on between you two," Clark pointed to how Bruce was carefully ordering the reports chronologically."

"And the fact that she's going on a date bothers you," Clark said, "As evidenced by your obsessive ordering. But it's still your own damn fault for all but ignoring her."

At the next meeting, Wonder Woman walked in and immediately started gossiping with Shayera. "Richard is absolutely dreamy," she said. "You were right, men are worth it."

Wally and Clark exchanged an awkward glance. Things were getting strange.

Then Batman opened the door, and the day got full-out weird.

"Um…Bruce?" Clark said. "You have…uh…lipstick on your face." Batman did indeed have a very feminine-shaped smudge of red on the corner of his mouth.

"Oh," Bruce rubbed it away. "Well, you know Catwoman. She likes to be _so_ energetic."

Wonder Woman straight up. Bruce smiled slightly at her reaction. Diana saw it, and said. "It's so great that you've found someone. Richard and I are _so_ happy with each other, it'd be a shame for you to not have that too."

Bruce scowled. "It's not serious, Diana. And this isn't a relationship therapy session, so I suggest we get down to business." He set his cold glare firmly on Diana's shoulders. She merely smiled at him.

Batman tried one last time. "Would that be Richard _Downing_ by any chance?"

"Yes…" There was a small hint of uncertainty in Diana's voice. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Bruce sat down. "I've certainly heard a lot about him, that's all."

"Like what?" Diana asked, but Bruce started reading off the minutes from the last meeting and completely ignored her.

The night got off to a bad start. Diana went home, and out of whimsy (and a little apprehension) turned on the computer she rarely used to search Richard's name. The top hit was the law office he was a partner at. The second was Richard's Facebook page.

Diana had never visited the site herself, but she certainly heard Wally talk about it enough. She clicked on the link. A picture of Richard popped up, along with a list of stats. She scrolled through it, smiling slightly at the "in a relationship" status.

Suddenly, she scrolled back to it. Under the "in a relationship" it said _with Raquel Monique Nevada_. Diana frowned and clicked on the girl's link. Up came a picture of a woman with bleach-blond hair and a rather generous chest, even by Amazon standards.

The newest post on Raquel's page was dated yesterday. It was from Richard, and read: _Love you, babe! See you tonight!_

Richard had backed out of a date with Diana last night.

She felt a tight knot in her stomach. She had only been using Richard to make Bruce jealous right? Then why did she feel so upset? And Bruce, with that lipstick on his face….

Had she driven him away permanently?

Diana shot off a quick, angry email to Richard. She told him it was over, and sent him a link to the Facebook page.

Then she went into the kitchen and devoured two chocolate bars.

"Bad night?" Shayera asked the next morning. Diana nodded, and filled her in as quickly and painlessly as possible. Shayera winced. "Tough break. Did you pound his skull in?"

"No, it would have given away the whole Diana-is-Wonder-Woman thing," Diana smiled, rueful.

"I still would have," Shayera touched the spiked mace by her side. Diana only shook her head and chewed on her potatoes O'Brien. Then she saw Batman walk into the cafeteria.

He stopped next to Clark, who was eating breakfast with Supergirl, and threw a stack of papers down in front of him. For some reason this one little move, so arrogant, set Diana off. She slapped her fork down on her tray and marched up to him.

"Diana," he said, without any hint of friendliness.

"You have some nerve," she said.

"What did I do?" he asked, cocking his head to the side in sarcastic puzzlement. "Save you from what would be a disastrous relationship? Or your terrible taste?"

Diana grabbed the front of his costume and dragged him closer. "You're right," she snarled. "I seem to have a thing for cold, conniving bastards."

Then she threw him onto the floor and marched out.

The cafeteria went dead silent. Batman picked himself up off the floor, brushed off his cape, and walked out without looking at a single person.

It had been three weeks, and battle lines were drawn. Clark sat uncomfortably between Bruce and Diana, who spent most of the meeting glaring at each other and making subtle digs about the others attractiveness.

Even G.L. was squirming in his seat when Diana looked straight at Bruce and said coolly, "I have to leave early today. Robert apologized _very _sincerely, and deleted his Facebook account, so we're back together. After all, he is an excellent kisser. Much better than any _superhero_ I've ever dated."

"In fact," she continued, "I don't know why I ever gave certain people a chance." Batman's scowl deepened.

The meeting ended not long after that.

Bruce caught up to her in the hallway. He looked like he might have tried to gloss over his next statement with a lie, but it tumbled out. "You shouldn't get back together with him."

"Why do you care?" Diana asked.

"Statistically, unfaithful partners continue to be unfaithful even after apologies," he said.

She spun around, venom written on her face, and snarled, "If you didn't want me to get hurt, Bruce, you wouldn't have led me on." Then she turned on her heel and started walking away.

"I'm not with Selina," he blurted.

"What?"

"I know how to fake lipstick marks," he looked down, left , right, anywhere to avoid her face.

"There's no Robert," Diana said.

Now it was Bruce's turn. "What?"

"Shayera made the Facebook account," Diana admitted. "And Question set up the fake identity as a favor to Huntress."

Bruce was staring at her. Suddenly he stepped forward and took her hands.

And then Diana had to admit it—superheroes do kiss better.


	18. Wake: Sequel to Hurt

**A/N: ****This is for everyone who wanted a sequel to "Hurt"—hope you like it!**

**Also, this is the 18****th**** fic, so only two more to go. Anyone have a suggestion for the last fic?**

~Wake~

Bruce halfway opened his eyes, blinking away the vestiges of a nightmare he couldn't quite remember. The first thing he realized was that his ankle was sore, and so was his right arm. The second was that he was not lying in his own bed, and had no memory of the previous night.

He looked up at saw a face looming over him. With his right hand he struck the figure's neck, aiming for a pressure point, and to his horror the head went flying across the room while the body stayed in the same place.

Bruce sat straight up and realized that he had just decapitated a hot pink teddy bear. In fact, everything in the room was pink, from the walls to the bedspread he'd just thrown off. There was an odd taste in his mouth.

The odd thing was that he wasn't restrained and his ankle and arm had been bandaged. However, his belt, boots, and armor had been removed, as well as his cowl (that would have to be dealt with later). It could be some sick plot of Toyman's, the Joker, or even the Riddler. Bruce rose silently from the bed.

He explored the room, but there were no factors to tell him where he was. It looked, quite frankly, like a teenage girl's room (Harley Quinn, maybe?). The shade was drawn and he didn't raise it, as that would be an obvious place to hide a machine gun.

Suddenly the door swung open. Bruce leapt on the attacker, aiming for a strike to the forehead with a simultaneous kick to the ribs.

Instead, he came hit a very surprised Clark Kent, who was dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans.

"Kal?" he said, then leaned closer. "No—one of the decommissioned robots, no doubt."

The Superman-copy blinked rapidly. Bruce looked around the room for a magnet and an electrical outlet so he could disable it.

"Copy?" said the Superman-robot. Bruce grabbed a heart-shaped refrigerator magnet off the desk. The robot was doubtlessly gearing up for an attack. "What the hell, Bruce?"

Bruce jumped. Clark had programmed the robots to know his _name?_ Was he really as much of a bumbling idiot as he acted?

He jabbed a pen tip into the wall outlet and then connected it to the magnet and tossed the entire, sparking contraption at the Superman copy.

"Ah!" The copy ducked it, impressively fast. Whatever villain had captured the robot doubtlessly reworked the reflexes. The robot grabbed him around the midsection, though not hard, and made him drop the second magnet he'd picked up.

"Calm down," the robot commanded, and held him in a bear hug.

"Let me go," Bruce tried to reach the automatic disable button Kal had installed on all the robots, but couldn't find it.

"I'm not a robot!" The copy said. It set Bruce down on the bed and held him there. "Don't you remember?"

Bruce stayed silent, working up more ways to disable the thing. Maybe if he stuck a needle into the main processing cortex…

"We fought that thing in Kansas City. From S.T.A.R Labs?"

It was starting to come back. Bruce pulled away from Clark's grasp. "Oh."

Clark looked around the room. "Bruce…what in the world did you do to Kara's teddy bear?"

Bruce stared glumly and guiltily at the mutilated stuffed animal and the stuffing strewn like snowflakes across the room. "It…startled me."

"Well, remind me not to do that," Clark said with a chuckle.

Bruce was trying to finish piecing events together in his head. He still couldn't figure out what the weird taste in his mouth was.

"You're in Kara's room," Clark said. "Honestly, did you think a villain would bandage you up?"

"Of course not," he tried to put the events together. The fight, then coming to the Kent farm and Ma forcibly playing nurse on him, then the tea…how had he gotten upstairs?

Clark let him stand, and suddenly it all came together.

"You drugged me!" he yelled, instinctively throwing a punch. Clark stepped back, and Bruce put too much weight on his sore ankle, wincing at the pain.

"The aspirin wore off," Clark said. "Come on downstairs and I'll get you some more."

"_You drugged me!_" Bruce grabbed Clark by the collar and hauled him off his feet, not really caring that it was kind of useless on Superman.

"It was for you own good," Clark said, utterly unfazed. "And I didn't do it, Ma did. If all it took to get you to sleep was children's Benadryl then you were too tired to be flying a plane home."

"That's not the point!" Bruce let Clark down, mostly because holding him up with one hand was a little difficult.

Ma's voice filtered upstairs. "Breakfast, boys!"

"You can take it up with Ma," Clark opened the door and started down the stairs. Bruce had no choice but to follow, with a slight limp to his step.

Downstairs, Ma was cooking out of two frying pans and a cast iron skillet. It smelled delicious. She flipped over some eggs, turned, and said, "Good morning, boys, how did you sleep?"

Then she set three steaming plates of eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, and biscuits on the table.

"Where's Pa?" Clark asked.

"At the Shelton's house," Ma laid dishtowels over the extra food to keep it hot. "Helping them get there new pigs set up."

"Ah," Clark sat down at the table. Bruce remained standing.

"Pull up a chair," Ma said, smiling at him. "There are three plates out here."

Bruce took a deep breath. "Mrs. Kent, I object to your—"

Ma waved him away. "Honestly. You needed sleep, and that's that. If you wish to discuss it further you'll have to wait until after breakfast—that's the rule. Now sit down and put that ankle up."

"I'm not staying for breakfast, Mrs. Kent," he said, although standing was starting to ache and the offer of one of Ma Kent's famous breakfasts was almost too good to pass up. Then he remembered the drugged tea and felt his anger flare up again. "I need to get back to Gotham."

"Come on," she patted the third chair.

"No, Mrs. Kent," he snapped.

"Back to Mrs. Kent, am I?" Ma sat down at her own chair. Bruce turned to leave.

"By the way," she added, "I invited some of the neighbor boys over to build a school project out in the field this morning. They have a perfect view of the barn, so if you were thinking of taking off in that plane it might not be a great idea."

Bruce sighed and sat down in the chair. Ma pointed to his fork and he angrily stabbed a piece of scrambled egg. Clark smirked and Bruce shot him a glare that wiped the amused look right off his face.

Clark and Martha chatted for a moment about things around Smallville, and then Martha turned to Bruce.

"How is Gotham?" she asked pleasantly.

"Fine."

"And the boys?"

"Fine."

Martha looked a little annoyed, but tried one more time. "And how is Alfred."

"Fine," Bruce said.

"Is there some way you could describe them other than 'fine'?" Martha asked.

"As you can tell, I'm _wonderful _conversationalist," Bruce's words were practically dripping with sarcasm. Martha put her fork down on the table and Clark cringed.

"If you're really that angry, then by all means say what you want," Ma's words were perfectly measured.

"I don't appreciate being treated like a child," Bruce snapped. "And furthermore, I certainly don't like you drugging me! As if I don't get it enough from The Joker, and the Riddler and Lex Luthor!"

Dead silence.

Martha sighed. "If I hadn't, when would you have slept next? Two days, later? Not to mention that arm—would you have ever gotten a cast or would you have just left it splinted for a few weeks until you thought it could handle the stress of running around Gotham City on a jumpline?"

Bruce said nothing, which was affirmation in itself.

Martha leaned a little closer and said, "Would _Alfred_ have done any different?"

"No," Bruce muttered. Martha smiled, reached out and ruffled his hair (which he didn't mind as much as he thought he would).

"Now then," she said. "How's the breakfast?"

"Very good," he admitted.

"Good," Martha smiled again, and all in all Bruce had a most pleasant breakfast.


	19. Alone

**A/N:**** Yay! My first Kara/Wally fic! I've always imagined Kara to be around 17 and Wally to be 19 or 20, so no, this isn't weird. As Wally says in the cartoon, they all have Martian on their speed dial. **

~Alone~

Flash wandered the Watchtower. There were very few people there, for some reason, and those who were present he either didn't know or didn't really _want _to know (like B'wana Beast—that guy had the worst costume ever).

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and found Supergirl standing behind him, hovering a few inches off the ground.

"What's up?" she asked.

Wally shrugged. "Want to get an iced mocha?"

"Sure." They headed towards the spare kitchen off the west annex. Kara looked around at the empty hallway. "Quiet today."

"Yeh, where's Supes?" Flash and Kara were unconsciously gaining speed, racing each other towards the kitchen.

"Up at the Fortress, watering his plants and giving Kandor some scaled down DVDs. They were getting bored with the stuff from the nineties," Kara laughed and elbowed Wally when he tried to overtake her. "What happened to the other guys? Batman?"

"From what I heard, he broke his ankle and Alfred tied him to the bed," Flash said, then paused. "Uh…was I supposed to tell you about Alfred?"

"Don't worry, I already knew," Kara sidestepped Wally's attempt to trip her. Then she giggled. "Wow, it must be hard to keep _him _to stay home."

"No…Alfred actually tied him to the bed."

"Oh," Kara got a slightly wistful look.

"What?" Wally asked. They reached the kitchen and he poured ice into the blender.

"Nothing," she said, and blushed. Now Wally was extra interested.

"C'mon!" Wally tossed her a mocha. "I made you a drink—and in the blink of an eye, too!"

Kara sighed. "Let's just say that pretty much every female to come into the Watchtower has a crush on Batman at one point or another. I mean, the guy's _hot."_

She suddenly snapped her head up and glared at Wally, threatening heat vision. "You are _not_ to tell Kal I said that."

"No one has a crush on _me_," Flash grumbled. Darn Bats—why the heck did all the girls want a sullen angsty guy? Why not an attractive, young, funny speedster (after all, red is so much cooler than black)?

Kara giggled and sipped her mocha. Flash got himself one and stood next to her, leaning against the railing of the balcony overlooking the tactical bay. "What, the fastest man alive can't get a date?"

"I can get a date!"

"_Really?_"

"Yeah!"

Kara sucked on her straw. "Name the last girl you went out with."

Flash thought. "Crissy Remano."

"And when was this?"

"Junior year," Flash sighed. "It's true. I can't get a date."

Kara giggled again.

"That's really annoying," Flash drank half his mocha. "You're not supposed to make fun of other people's misfortune. Honestly, didn't the big boy scout teach you anything?"

She smiled, sipped her mocha, and looked up at him. "Doesn't this count as a date?"

Flash choked on his drink and nearly inhaled the straw. "What!"

Kara rose a few inches off the ground and kissed him on the cheek. Then she grinned. "Fastest man alive, huh? Betcha can't catch me."

She started down the hallway and Wally went after her.


	20. Future

**A/N: My last one-shot (at least until I finish the 4 multi-chapter stories I want to do)…*sniff* I'll confess that I didn't mean to go as Superman-Batman friendfic as I did, but heck, I love them together. **

**P.S. As you can tell, I totally disregard Batman Beyond. **

~Future~

….1 Year Later….

Clark had been looking for Batman for almost a half hour when he finally found him in the library.

"There you are," Bruce said, turning around and sticking the file about alternate universe #16-7 back on the shelf. "I've been looking for you."

"I've been looking for _you_," Clark couldn't keep the grin off his face. He dragged Bruce out to his dorm room, where they were alone. Bruce pulled off his cowl.

"I've got something to tell you," Bruce said. Clark thought he could detect a hint of a smile on the Dark Knight's face.

"Me too."

"You first," they said, in unison. Then both blurted, "I'm engaged!"

"What?"

"You asked Lois finally?" Bruce said, deadpan.

"Finally? You're one to talk!" Clark smirked. "How long have you been stringing Diana along?"

Bruce smiled at that. He clicked the second pocket to the left on his belt open and shut, a nervous tic Clark recognized from years of friendship. Bruce looked up, "Would you be my best man?"

"As long as you're mine," Clark hugged Bruce around the shoulders, even though Batman put on a half-hearted scowl and pushed him away after a second.

….2 Years Later…..

Bruce stood in the room, staring at the room, utterly stiff in his starched tuxedo. His heart was running at 80 beats per minute—nearly hyperventilating for someone who was usually around 40 BPM. "I can't do this."

Clark laughed. He was also trussed up in a suit, but infinitely more relaxed in it. "Getting cold feet?"

"It's not funny."

"You're supposed to be happy," Clark came up, tweaked Bruce's bowtie. "Everyone thought it would be Wally before you."

"That's not much of a compliment," Bruce said, utterly seriously. The tuxedo felt odd and fake—too much like Bruce Wayne's costumes for his liking.

"Think of tonight—that ought to cheer you up," Clark grinned as Bruce turned sixteen shades of red. "Wow—when you blush your ears turn pretty dang scarlet."

"Never mention this again," Bruce said, though his shoulders relaxed and he smiled a little.

"Actually, I was planning to use it in the toast," Clark said, and Bruce turned a patented batglare on him at maximum intensity. He was spared by Dick opening the door and telling them it was time.

They walked together into the church and took their places at the front of the aisle. Donna waved at Clark from the other side—then the music started and Clark had to hold in laughter when he saw Bruce jump at the sight of Diana looking utterly beautiful in her long white dress.

….5 Years Later….

Bruce walked in late and without Diana. He collapsed in the seat next to Clark with a sigh.

"Long day?" Clark asked, even though he was exhausted himself from getting up with the baby every two hours.

"Long night," Bruce took off his mask and rubbed his temples. "It's hard to sleep when a toddler pukes on you at two in the morning."

"Eew!" Flash said and stuck out his tongue.

Bruce glared at him, "I hope you have children someday, Wally. Lots of them."

"Be nice," Clark said. Shayera and J'onn were smirking. "James was hoping for a playdate, but I take it that's not an option?"

"Not if you want him sick, too," Bruce said, and sighed. "God, I got better sleep back when I patrolled from eleven at night to five a.m."

Suddenly he sneezed. "Aw, crap."

Clark laughed. "I guess kids do bring everything home."

Bruce feigned a kick at him.

…10 Years Later…..

The West triplets zipped around the room, climbing over every possible surface. Their peanut butter and jelly handprints went up the walls and over the bookcases and tables.

Bruce watched them and wondered how in the world they'd managed to get a peanut butter footprint on the underside of the shelves.

Wally and Linda were trying to corral them, which was an impossible task.

"Why are their kids at recruitment tryouts, anyway?" Bruce asked with more than a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

"They've gone through every babysitter in the phone book," Clark said. Then the first of the new superheroes walked in the door and the founding members took their places around the table, ready to decide if "Electro Boy" was league material.

Three tryouts in, Clark leaned over. "Where's Diana?"

"Themyscarin knighting ceremony," Bruce whispered. The performance of "Acid Snot Man" left something to be desired. "Very big deal, apparently. I wasn't allowed, because of that pesky Y chromosome, but Diana and the girls went."

"Must be quiet," Clark said.

"Just me and Alfred," Bruce said, and sighed.

"What?" Clark asked. He was now studiously ignoring the contest, who blew green snot out his nose at a chair, which promptly dissolved.

"How come you got all the sons?" Bruce asked. "Wally still has not stopped teasing me about that."

"You already got your allotment with Dick and Tim," Clark watched Acid Snot Man walk out, with more than a measure of relief. The whole room smelled like metallic bodily fluids. "How's Barbra, by the way?"

"Three months along," Bruce said. He watched the next contestant enter. This one was a girl with a full face mask and a cloak. She was petite, maybe even a teenager, but that wasn't unusual these days.

The girl started her maneuvers. She had no superpowers, but wielded a pair of eskrima sticks expertly, working her way through three level two training robots in ten minutes. That was good. Not great, but good and she probably hadn't had that much training.

Bruce squinted. Something in the way she moved seemed familiar. A little—no….

He stood up, jumped over the table and ripped the girl's mask off.

"Bruce!" Clark said, but stopped when he saw who it was.

"_What are you doing_!" Bruce yelled. Rose Wayne squirmed under her father's grip, but managed to keep a steady look on her face.

"I'm trying out," she said, and the whole rest of the League sucked in a breath at how she was talking to Batman. "It's open, you know."

"I told you that you were never to put on a costume!" He looked like he wanted to smack her. "It was your mother's idea to train you and even that, apparently, was too much."

"You don't love me," Rose said. "Dick was Robin at age eight. I'm twelve and you won't even consider it!"

"Of course I love you!" Bruce was nearly at the end of his rope. Clark stood up, ready to intervene, and for once the West triplets were absolutely silent. "Why the hell do you think I don't want you out on the rooftops?"

"Oh, so its Dick and Tim and Cassandra who are meaningless and expendable," Rose said, and smiled. Any noise ceased in that moment. Clark walked over.

"Okay, now, break it up," he put his arms out, and they both ignored him.

"Absolutely not," Bruce said, through grit teeth. His fist were clenched at his sides and Clark was pretty sure that if he had been the one saying this stuff he would already be out on the floor with a Kryptonite chunk up his nose.

"Really? Are you sure that you don't see them more as 'foot soldiers' rather than sons and daughters? Because that might be why Dick stopped speaking to your for three years," Rose looked up at her father with absolute calm.

Clark almost laughed out loud—with her black hair and blue eyes Rose was almost a female version of Bruce, and she had inherited his stubbornness. Perhaps the only one who could win an argument with Batman was his own daughter.

He saw Bruce's face turn red and remembered that this was not an argument any sane person would have picked.

"Young lady," Bruce growled. "You will shut up this instant or I swear…"

"You'll what, smack me? Sounds kind of like what I'd get from supervillains, huh?" Rose grinned. "You're only angry cause its true."

Bruce said nothing. Based on what Clark was seeing, he probably didn't trust himself to speak.

"This is your own fault," Rose shrugged. "When Batman and Wonder Woman combined genomes, it probably should have been expected that one kid would come out with her fighting instinct and your brain."

Bruce sighed, and looked down at his daughter in her small, badly sewn costume. She did look like Dick, when he'd first tried to prove himself good enough to be Robin.

"If you go through _exactly_ what Tim and Dick went through, then I'll let you," he said. "As long as you promise to stay a sidekick for a couple years."

Rose grinned from ear to ear and jumped on Bruce. "Thank you Daddy! I promise I'll do good!"

Bruce looked at Clark, "I'm a sucker, aren't I?"

Clark shrugged. "It's the family business, Bruce. You can't mess with tradition."

"Not the tradition I wanted," Bruce hugged his daughter back and set her down. "I suppose I'll have to tell Diana now. Want to help me out with that?"

"Sorry," Clark said. "For that one, you're on your own."

….25 Years Later…..

Bruce leaned over and whispered to Clark, "This is all your fault."

"Excuse me?" Clark said.

"Grey hair," Bruce said, and pointed to his head. "You and your stupid genetics."

"You're fifty-five. You had to start going gray sometime," Clark rolled his eyes. "And anyway, my hair is half white. That's a result of always chasing after you and saving you from crashing the Watchtower into the ground while still inside."

"That was decades ago!"

"And yet, I still haven't forgotten," Clark said, and was shushed by Lois. He dropped his voice a pitch. "Having grey hair isn't as bad as white hair at the temple."

"Says the immortal alien," Bruce muttered, before Diana shushed him.

"I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when they told you," Clark said, and grinned at Bruce's reaction to that: an annoyed shake of the head and a sigh that could have knocked over an elephant.

"C'mon, I know you're happy," Clark poked him in the ribs and Bruce swatted his hand away. "We're related now."

"No, we're not, technically," Bruce shot him an expected glare. "And at this rate the whole League will be related in a few generations, which could lead to god-knows-what genetic abnormalities."

"Aren't you glad it wasn't one of Wally's boys?"

Bruce groaned. "Please—don't even put that thought into my head. They're ten times worse than he was at that age. The hyperactivity must multiply exponentially between generations."

Clark smiled. The West triplets were all seated on the far side of the church. They'd each taken a color out of their father's costume for theirs—Patrick in yellow, Barry Jr. in white, and Jay Jr. in red. "Someday the fate of the world might be in their hands, you know."

"We're screwed," Bruce said.

"You and you're pessimistic view of the universe," Clark ducked another reproachful glance from Lois, who threatened him silently with a hymn book. "No wonder Gordon could tell that Dick was a new Batman."

Bruce _hrmphed_ and accidentally knocked over the cane he'd been using since the knee injury that had finally forced his retirement. It landed on Diana's feet, and she shot them both a glare that rivaled her husband's in potency.

"Speaking of Dick, how are the grandkids?" Clark asked.

"Nieces and nephews," Bruce said. Diana heard this part of the conversation and rolled her eyes. "I'm too young to be a grandfather, and Alfred is the one who really parented Dick. I did a crappy job of it."

"And yet they call you _Grandpa _and him _Granddad_," Clark said. Bruce elbowed him.

"Knock it off," Diana whispered. "Honestly, you two are too old to have to be separated."

She and Lois exchanged and exasperated look over their husbands' heads.

"Do you realize that our grandkids will be part Kryptonian, part Amazon, and part Bat?" Clark said.

"No more talk of grandchildren."

"You have an unhealthy view of aging."

"My wife and my best friend are practically immortal, what do you expect?"

"True," Clark said. "Still, I see how you spoil Dick's kids rotten."

Bruce smiled at that. "I'm Bruce Wayne, aren't I supposed to spoil my grandkids?"

"Ha!" Clark said. Too loudly—half the church turned to look at them. "You called them grandkids!"

"That does it," Lois made Clark switch seats with her, and Diana made Bruce switch her. Two seats apart, they were forced to be quiet through the rest of the wedding of James Kent and Rose Wayne.

**The End**


End file.
